#the logistics of me continuing where i left off at with color blue

[dearestxiao]

real talk before I answer some asks... WOULD you guys want me to continue the color blue if I were able to? is that something you guys are interested at all in or want? and if so would you guys be okay with a 'the color blue: rewritten?' any thoughts? let me know!!!

[buckets-and-trees]

The Only Way of Knowing You [Nick Fowler x Reader]

Title: The Only Way of Knowing You Characters/Pairings: leshy!Nick Fowler x curvy female!Reader Word Count: 7.8k

Summary: When you visit a cabin, you're drawn more and more to the forest, the flora and fauna, and a handsome stranger you cross paths with in the woods.

Content Warnings: explicit smut - nipple play, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse, initial consent to questionable/dubious consent ending, kidnapping, intimidation, implied stalking and explicit stalking, human to monster transformation, monster fucking

Logistical Notes: Very belated, but this is my addition to the Enchanted Birthday Fest and my humble gift to all of you who come around and read what I write. Incorporating Mania (obsessive love - stalking) for @the-slumberparty's Eight Types of Love challenge. Thank you @goldylions and @sgt-seabass for blasting this with your beta energy. It certainly benefitted from your poking, prodding, and polishing.

Narrative Notes: There's a lot of leshy lore that's evolved over time since differing versions existed across Europe and you've got modern media takes. I took pieces that stuck out to me as I combed through. The most significant trait I adopted was that a leshy king could shape shift into human or animal and would adopt disguise to hide, adapt, or even lure people into the forest.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You gasped and stopped on the trail.

“A dog,” you whispered to no one but yourself, a grin splitting across your face.

The wilderness of the forest around you rose into a small, banked ridge on the left. You had only just heard the rustle of leaves that drew your attention over to that side to see the creature. You couldn’t tell the breed for sure – all dark fur, pointed ears, looking something between a husky and a wolf – but with him being so calm and willing to come this close to the path when he’d undoubtedly heard you walking, you assumed he couldn’t be too wild or feral. He had piercing blue eyes that locked with yours.

You were so tempted to try to call him over, but if he was wild, it was probably better not to, and if he belonged to someone, you didn’t want to lead him away from where he needed to go.

So, after another beat, you continued along your path.

After the four hour drive to your destination with some of the team from your office, as soon as you had unloaded and eaten lunch, you had been eager to get away to stretch your legs and to have some time away from everyone else, and you had some time before the rest of the team arrived for the work retreat your boss had put together. You had six days of training, strategizing, and team bonding ahead of you with a professional consultant and facilitator flown in who had built the agenda. There were breaks built throughout the day, and as you set off for this first walk, you imagined both the physical movement and the time away from the group would help keep you focused, energized, and from actually strangling your co-worker Rachel who regularly burst into song during casual conversation. 

You saw the dog again as you took the same path the next day when your group took a mid-morning break. This time, he walked alongside your path, keeping his distance off to the side, but only kept pace with you for about five minutes before wandering off.

You were hopeful to see him when you headed out in the afternoon.

But instead of the dog, you encountered a man in almost the same area, approaching you on the path.

The man was dressed in sturdy hiking boots, dark jeans, a dark green flannel over a white shirt, and a tan jacket over that. He was tall, well-built, with short brown hair, and entirely too handsome a person to encounter in real life, especially with his devastatingly blue eyes – eyes that were the same color as the dog.

You groaned internally for comparing his eyes to the dog’s.

“Hello,” he said, nodding at you a few paces before you were about to pass each other.

“Hello,” you managed to return – it was mostly automatic, but the intensity of his gaze almost prevented you from the customary politeness of fellow trailwalkers.

After he passed, you shook your head. No need to be flustered by the momentary passing of a stranger.

You looked back over your shoulder, and then your heart thudded to discover that he was looking back at you, too. He smirked, turned, and kept along his way.

You shook your head at yourself and then kept on your way.

The walking path through the forest was narrow in parts, wider in others, and rambled on for a mile or so before it split, allowing its travelers to eventually circle clockwise or counter-clockwise around a still, blue body of water that was bigger than a pond but not quite large enough to be classified as a lake. The trees ran right down to the water in many areas, and the path, as it circled, sometimes came very close to its edges, and in other places only came within ten or fifteen meters of the shore.

On day three, you saw the man in the morning, and the dog in the afternoon.

The man, the same you saw before, came towards you after he'd done a circle around the lake. You reached the two forks before having to directly pass him, to which he waved and said hello, the same casual niceties. 

In the afternoon, the dog approached you slowly but directly, and you knelt happily and held out your hand to encourage him to close the gap. He did, and after a quick sniff, let you pet him and scratch his ears.

“No collar?” you asked as you pet and admired his smooth, shiny coat.

After a minute, you stood and said, “You seem pretty familiar with this forest, well-fed, and so friendly. I don’t need to worry about you, do I?”

He circled you quickly, wagged his tail, and you laughed. “You want to join me for my walk this time?”

He trotted ahead a few steps, then looked back at you and waited.

You laughed. “I guess I’ll join you for this walk then.”

The two of you kept pace with each other all the way around the small lake, and then shortly after you got back to the main forest length, he trotted off the path into the forest again with only a small look back and a happy bark before bounding away.

That evening, because you had gone on so many walks, the rest of the group at the cabin decided to take an evening stroll around the lake. The planked wooden path made an adventure after dark doable enough. You didn’t see either of the strangers – dog or man – but there were a few times you had the keen sense you were being watched. In the dark it was impossible to tell, but the feeling came and went.

The next morning, you made your way down the deep forest path without encountering anyone and took the right fork to make your way around the lake.

At nearly the same place the dog had approached you the afternoon before, the man came striding your way from off the path.

“Hello,” he greeted as soon as he’d stepped out of the trees.

It was evident he intended to speak to you.

“Hello,” you said, trying to be friendly, but unsure how this would unfold, and a little nervous over engaging with the stranger.

Your heartbeat sped up the closer he got, but not because he was still a stranger, but because you were reminded he was altogether too handsome of a stranger. This was made even more obvious than your brief passings the previous two days, as now you could only stand still and watch as he approached you.

You remembered he was tall, but today he seemed taller. Those blue eyes had you rooted to the spot where you stood, and his face had a small but easy smile. You tried in vain to keep your heart from racing the closer he got.

“I’m Nick,” he offered, once he was close enough for conversation.

You gave your name in response.

“Nice to actually meet you,” he said as he stepped up onto the boardwalk. “You’re not from around here. Staying in one of the vacation cabins?” he guessed.

You nodded. “And you are from around here?” you surmised. “Do you live here? Work here? Both?”

“I suppose you could say both.” A calm but crips breeze swept through the trees around you, rustling through the leaves. 

“Oh, are you the caretaker?”

“Guardian, caretaker, king of the forest,” he joked.

You laughed, and it was an easy laugh.

He echoed your laugh. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“No, of course, I do,” you said.

“If you let me join you, maybe I can prove my place here in the forest, share some of the history of the land, and some of my expert knowledge.” He raised his brow in a questioning look.

You were torn equally between hesitance and intrigue, but you were more unsure of how to decline, nor did you actually want to, so you nodded, and the corner of his mouth ticked up. He swept his arm to the side, gesturing at the path, and as you started walking, he fell right in step with you.

“So, what brought you to the forest?” he asked.

You explained how your boss had booked the large corporate retreat cabin for your team, planning many days of bonding and strategy conversations and leadership workshops with the consultant flown in from New York City.

As you walked together, he made good on his promise to tell you more about the forest and the lake. He pointed out some of the flora and fauna, showing his care and consideration for the wildlife and growth of the wilderness.

“It must be nice living out here.”

“You would like it.”

You looked over at him, finding he was already watching you, and then turned your head back to the path. “I think I might. Being out here the past few days has me contemplating quitting my job, selling off most of my stuff, and just finding a small cabin in the woods and writing or something.”

“You should.”His concentrated attention both unnerved you and put you at ease at the same time. It was a strange feeling. There was something within you that wanted more time with him like this, but it was silly to want. This was only your first conversation with him. You wouldn’t be spending day after day stumbling into walks with him any more than you would be abandoning your city life to embrace a secluded existence in a cabin in the forest.

But it might be nice, you thought.

“If only,” you finally sighed.

He was quiet for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. “When are you supposed to leave?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

He hummed in thought. “That seems like an awfully long cabin retreat for a team of colleagues.”

You laughed. “It certainly is. My boss has too much money and got very excited. It’s mostly a good office of people, and there are about ten of us here, but I definitely like my time away from the group – we’ve been encouraged to spend our breaks however we need.”

“And you took to your walks in the woods.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed and smiled softly. “Oh, actually, do you know about the black dog running around out here? I’ve seen him every other day, but not yet today.”

“He caught your heart, didn’t he?”

You grinned and nodded. “Does he have owners out here, or is he wild? He doesn’t have a collar.”

“No owners.”

“Not unlike you?”

“Oh, have I caught your heart, too?”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you tried not to let your pace falter. “I–”

He gave a chuckle, but he also let his fingers brush against yours as you continued to walk side by side. “Don’t worry, if I didn’t want to see you, I would know how to go unnoticed by you in this forest.”

“Oh.” It was a small response, especially compared to the burst of warmth that bloomed in your heart, but you weren’t quite sure how to respond. You were flattered with the flirting and his insinuation that he did want to see you. A whisper in the back of your mind wondered how many years he must have walked these woods to know its secrets and be so confident that he could wander it undetected, but he gestured for you to listen to the faint call of a pair of birds nearby. He identified them as veery thrushes, and  then you were carried along into learning about them and some of the other animals that inhabited this area of the forest during the rest of your short morning walk. 

Nick came across you walking again in the afternoon. He told you more about the forest and its history, but more and more he started to ask more questions about you.

You liked that he asked about you.

It seemed impossible that this unbelievably tall (was he even taller than he was before? Surely he wasn’t), dark, handsome man was so keen on your company, but you couldn’t help but take to him, and to the warmth of the attention he shined on you like the sun that filtered through the leaves of the trees to bathe the rest of the flora in the forest.

It may have been silly to dream about him that night when you went to sleep, but you had no real control over that, and although this whole excursion was for work, a small, inconsequential crush on someone you would never see again when you went home was fine.

The next morning, you didn’t run into him during your walk, but you were happy to run into your furry companion again, and he stayed right at your side while you took the loop around the lake. You were only a little sad there was no sign of Nick, but even though he clearly spent a lot of time there, you couldn’t expect him to always be in the woods.

So, when you were just starting along the path for your walk and hear footsteps coming up behind you, you eagerly looked over your shoulder, only to see two men walking some twenty to thirty yards behind you. You sighed and kept walking. You hadn’t seen a great deal of people on the trail over the past few days, but these weren’t the first strangers, as it was an area with enough scattered cabins throughout the forest to merit the establishment of the sturdy planked path in the first place.

But as you continued on, the men seemed to keep pace with you, speeding up when you did, and slowing down and maintaining some of the distance when you tested it, and that made you nervous. You would feel better even just to see the wild dog so you could call him to you. You were sure he would deter the men. But there was no sign of him either.

As you approached the fork that created the lake loop for the path, you didn’t know which to hope for – that they would take the other path and you would have to potentially pass them, or take the same one as you and you could hope that they would keep their distance.

They went the same way as you.

And they started to close the distance.

You thought you were imagining it at first, but when you increased your pace, theirs quickened even more, and there was no more of the hum of talking between them.

You didn’t want to panic and run. They both had a height advantage with longer legs, and if you could simply continue to walk more quickly, you could at least stave off the need to run until there was no more choice – because you were sure the second you ran, they would follow suit, and you didn’t know how long you’d last.

Especially now that your heart was already racing.

“Hey sweet thing,” one of them called out.

You focused on keeping your quick pace and didn’t look back.

“Nice day for a walk,” the same gruff voice added.

Still you refused to engage. You expected this now and then in the city, but it wasn’t supposed to happen out here. You didn’t have a phone to suddenly get on and call someone or keys in your pocket to thread through your fingers for makeshift protection. 

“Nice day for more than a walk, don’t you think?” the second man chimed in.

“Yeah, maybe a little afternoon delight.”

Your skin crawled. 

“A little fucking,” the second one jeered.

Maybe you did need to run. 

And then suddenly at a bend in the path, you turned and there he was.

Nick.

Your heart leapt in relief, and you rushed to him.

He had to have instantly seen the panic in your eyes as his own blue eyes changed immediately into a dark storm, and he looked beyond you as he quickly strode forward to meet you. He saw the men immediately as they, too, turned around the bend, and you heard their footsteps slow immediately.

Nick pulled you into his side, wrapping a protective arm around you.

“Afternoon,” one of the men said, both of them nodding, trying to pass off casual greetings as if they hadn’t been closing in on you, making their intentions clear.

“Turn around, pack up, and leave this forest,” Nick said, voice flat and threatening.

“Hey! Look, man,” the other started, but Nick cut him off.

“Turn around, pack up,” he repeated, enunciating each word with more fury, “never come back.”

They stopped walking, putting them only ten yards away.

“Now,” Nick growled.

A ripple of fear shot through you at his tone, and it wasn’t directed at you. There was a sudden groaning and crashing of trees in the distance that only added to the tension of the moment, and then the two men turned around and retreated.

“I know where you’re staying. Don’t make the mistake of thinking my directions are idle or that I won’t check to make sure you’re gone,” he spoke loudly enough for them to hear as they got further away.

With them no longer in sight, Nick turned his full attention to you, taking both your hands in his. “You alright?”

You took a deep breath in then let it out to release the tension from the fear-driven adrenaline and nodded.

He murmured your name, pressing in concern, ducking slightly to gaze directly into your eyes.

You smiled softly at his worry, the seeds that bloomed earlier in your heart coming to life and blooming a bit more. “I’m fine now,” you reassured him, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Really,” you promised. “Not the first intimidating creeps I’ve ever encountered.”

“Okay.” His face relaxed, but only a fraction, and you had the impression it was only to help ease your tension. “If you’re sure.”

You nodded. 

He dropped your hands, and you reminded yourself not to let your face drop as he did.

“Sorry I didn’t meet up with you earlier, I-“

You cut him off, “I wasn’t expecting you to meet up with me, and I don’t always get to steal away for these walks at the same time.”

He nodded. “I know. But I want to show you why time got away from me.”

“Okay.”

His face split into a bright smile. “Follow me,” he said, turning around and trekking into the trees. 

You trailed behind him as the ground gently sloped toward the lake. The trees and underbrush were abundant yet thin enough to allow the two of you to pass through. The wooden path varied in how close it was to the lake as it wound around, and here it was less than a minute before you could see the water’s edge. Nick abruptly stopped and put his arm out for you to also stop.

Since he’d been walking so quickly, you did bump right up against his arm with a small mumbled, “sorry,” and he turned his head to smile. Then he turned to look ahead and pointed to a cluster of rocks right at the shoreline.

You squinted to study them, and then you gasped when two little furry heads popped up over the top of the rocks.

“Otters!” you whispered.

“Yes,” Nick confirmed. “Freshwater river otters. I think we’ve got a clan of at least four that have only appeared today in the lake. Probably migrated down the river from the lake further up. They’ve been getting a bigger tourist draw up there, and I imagine they don’t want to be constantly disturbed by humans encroaching on their habitat.”

He took slow, measured, unassuming steps closer, and you tentatively followed. The two otters both perched up higher on the rocks, giving tiny yelps.

Nick motioned for you to kneel as he did. He held out his hand toward the pair of mammals.

“They’re a curious and friendly species,” he said, and even as he said the words, the two darted up and over the rocks, coming closer by a few feet before pausing. The slightly larger one gave a little trill and took a couple more hops forward. Its companion sauntered right up next to it, but then took a few more steps forward, bopped its nose against Nick’s hand, huffed and turned away, darting right down the bank and into the water, gliding smoothly away. The other came forward, gave Nick’s outstretched hand a little more of a sniff, then turned its head to you, and edged your way. You quickly but carefully stretched your hand out, received a couple of sniffs, and then this otter also snorted and trotted away and into the water, trilling as it slipped into the clear water.

“No fish, no interest,” Nick said, and the two of you laughed.

He moved to sit on the ground, and you sat next to him. The pair of otters re-emerged, swam up to shore, and dove back in and out of the water frequently as the two of you watched and talked.

You only stayed there for a short space of time, and then Nick seemed to sense without you needing to prompt him that it was time to get back to your walk. He stood and gave you a hand up. He held onto your fingers for just an extra moment, looking at your hands together, before letting go and brushing himself off. You did the same, and then fell into step with him, heading back to the path.

Easy conversation, just like the day before, continued to flow between you. He appeared to have endless questions about you, and again his rapt attention was its own warm, addictive rush, and that thing in your heart continued to grow, vines starting to sneak out of your heart and around your chest.

Suddenly he stopped, and you stopped another step ahead and turned to look back at him. “What is it?”

“We’re at the spot that leads up to the cabin your group is staying in,” he answered, a broad smirk on his face.

“Oh,” your cheeks heated, and you ducked your head to laugh. “Oops.”

You didn’t want your last walk with him to suddenly be over.

“You’re quite taken with all of this, aren’t you? The forest calls to you.”

You let out a wistful sigh and looked back up at him. Damn those impossibly deep blue eyes. You were overcome with a terrible ache that radiated from the base of your throat and the top of your chest, and you desperately tried to tamp down the thick emotion.

“But I have to go home tomorrow.”

“Come walk with me tonight.”

You bit your lip.

“Come on,” he urged you. “It’s your last night, and it’s a full moon. You have to see the forest bathed in the full moon's light. Come with me.”

“Yes,” you heard the word tumble out of your mouth, unable to deny him.

His eyes darkened and sparkled. “I promise you’ll see things you’ve never seen before.”

Though Nick wasn’t far from your thoughts, you focused well enough on your last evening with the group, engaging in dinner and the evening’s bonding activities. Wine and mocktails were poured for a final night looking up at the stars around a fire in the firepit on the balcony, and you made sure to enjoy that time, too. You had liked some of your coworkers before the retreat, but now you had a better understanding and appreciation for all of them.

However, once it got closer to ten, you anxiously started taking stock of the minutes passing away further into the night. Two of your group said goodnight at ten, but that was too early. You determined you would do well to stay with the balcony group until at least half-ten so you didn’t get too anxious about seeing Nick later.

At ten-thirty, a few more peeled off from the group, and so you retired to your room so that your timely departure didn’t seem unnatural to anyone.

You showered and messed with your hair for a bit but didn’t bother with makeup since it was after dark. You put on your favorite pair of joggers, a crewneck, and good walking shoes. You certainly hadn’t anticipated taking to the forest with so many walks each day, it wasn’t anything like how you were at home – busy with work and taking care of your life in the city – but it had been so natural to take to the outdoors while you were here. This final walk before your party went home in the morning wasn’t going to be like any of the others. You tried not to feel foolish for indulging in a walk at midnight with the hulking man with the most captivating blue eyes you’d ever seen who could easily take your breath away and whisk you off your feet.

But you had said yes because when else would you ever do something like this?

The answer was never.

And there was no harm in taking a handsome man up on his offer for a midnight stroll in the moonlight.

You put on the watch your grandmother had given you and the simple necklace you typically wore. They weren’t much, and you told yourself you didn’t need to dress up anyway, but they were small touches all the same.

Looking briefly in the mirror, you smoothed your hand down over the front of your shirt and took a deep breath. It’s fine, you thought. He’s seen you plenty before now, and it’s going to be dark, and it’s only a walk anyway. You checked your watch, and it was just a few minutes before eleven-thirty, which is when Nick had said to meet him.

You slipped quietly out of your room, down the stairs, and out the back door. The full moon was bright out here so far away from any city lights, illuminating the familiar path from the cabin that would take you down to the main boardwalk trail.

So many times Nick had simply appeared in the forest, but he was waiting for you right at the end of the path. Your heart raced just a little as his lips turned up in a smile.

“Hey,” you said softly.

“You came.”

He studied your face intently. You were unsure what he was looking for and simply focused on returning your gaze as unassuming as possible, telling your heart to settle and stop beating so fast. Yes, he made you feel things, but one of those things over the past few days had also been a sense of calm and safety in his presence, and you concentrated on that.

After another moment, finally, you responded with a simple, “I said I would.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “Then let’s go.”

You fell easily into step with him, the trail so familiar now, though it had been less than a week, and knowing this ramble down to the lake and back, your chest started to feel thick in anticipation of missing it already. As you walked and talked, you thought you were keeping pace with Nick, but maybe you were more tired than you thought because it seemed like you were working to stay in stride with him as you hadn’t had to before. Either that or his legs were longer than before, but that – of course – was an impossible thought.

You shook your head.

Nick paused and turned. “What are you shaking your head at?” he asked. “I’ve lost you, haven’t I?” His tone was soft and teasing.

“Sorry, I got distracted, and my imagination got a little carried away with impossibilities.”

He cocked his head slightly. “Maybe more is possible in this forest than you might think.” His eyes danced with a hint of mystery.

“Is that so?” You played into his mischief.

He leaned closer. “This is an old forest, and it’s a full moon. Anything could happen on a night like tonight.”

Your body seemed drawn into him, leaning closer as well. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he whispered, and his eyes flicked down to your lips.

The moment hung between you. You tilted your head up, and your eyes fluttered closed. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face.

And then he tugged on your hand, yanking you out of the moment. “Come on, pretty girl, we’re almost there.”

You sighed, letting out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

But with how tightly his hand held yours as he led you off the boardwalk and into the trees, you didn’t feel too disappointed.

He was quiet now, but he also kept you close as he led you through this part of the forest. The trees were more thickly woven together here, with girthier trunks, and you couldn’t help but feel how they were older the further you wandered in. There was no trace of a path now, but Nick kept a confident pace, clearly knowing each inch of the forest intimately, and his surety allowed you to let yourself be swept away further and further along.

His steps were swift but nearly silent, and you tried to walk as quietly as possible. The sounds of the forest at night were soft but present – soft wind whistling through the trees, the song of nocturnal birds, and the chirping of crickets. The light filtering through the branches was minimal, and it had to be tricking you because you knew he was tall, but it felt like he was somehow taller tonight. It had to be the nature of how you were keeping so close just behind him, focused on the square of his shoulder and the gentle pull of his arm leading you.

He wasn’t taller now than he was earlier today, was he?

“Just up ahead,” he said, looking back over his shoulder at you, one of the easy smiles that made your heart sigh painted on his face.

His pace quickened, and your anticipation built as you hurried to keep up.

Seconds before the tree line broke, you heard the rippling sounds of water before emerging into a glade. Nick stopped a few steps into the clearing, and you came to stand right next to him. The first thing to draw your eye was a stream running into a small pool. The meadow on the side of the stream where you stood sloped gently down to the water, and it was covered in blankets of wood anemone, reaching right down to the bank and springing up and sprawling away again on the other side. The trees surrounding the glade were certainly some of the tallest you’d seen in the forest, and they rose as giant sentinels toward the inky black sky, which was studded with stars around the bright full moon.

As you looked up and around, the coupling of the simplicity and the majesty of it all had you enraptured, and you let out a soft sigh of contentment.

Nick brought your hand up to his face, pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, and your heart stuttered in your chest. You turned to look at him. His eyes almost appeared to glow an even brighter blue.

“I said it earlier, but this forest calls to you, doesn’t it?”

Your brows furrowed.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

You did.

He dropped your hand, and you let it fall to your side.

“Take a deep breath,” he whispered.

You inhaled slowly, letting the breath fill your belly and lungs, fresh, clean, and calm. You tipped your head back, your face craving the moonlight in that moment.

Although you didn’t hear him move, suddenly you felt the warmth of Nick standing behind you. “Now, listen and feel,” he murmured softly in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. You shivered but remained rooted to the spot. His fingers brushed along the backs of your hands and began to trail slowly up your arms. Your whole body was humming at his touch.

He pressed one soft kiss to your neck, and you sighed and let your neck fall to the side. When his hands landed on your shoulders, he pressed another soft kiss at the bottom of your neck, then turned you to face him.

“You should stay with me.”

Before you could respond, he took your head in both his hands, cradling your jaw. He searched your eyes for any hesitancy, but you knew you couldn’t summon any, nor did you want to. Instead, you pushed up on your toes, seeking his lips, and he met you halfway, claiming your lips with his.

Your hands came up to clutch at his wrists as he held your face, and you leaned in, longing to feel your body close to his. His tongue teased at the seam of your mouth, and you let him in, allowing the kiss to deepen, to sear into your very soul. His left hand moved, quickly coming to press at the small of your back, drawing you flush against him. One of your arms wound around his broad chest, and the other came up to mirror how he was cupping your cheek, feeling the trace of stubble along his jaw with your fingers. You stroked his tongue with yours, moaning into the kiss, and he reciprocated stroke for stroke. You quickly became so consumed by his kiss, feeling lightheaded but not sure if it was him or a lack of air, because you couldn’t tell if you were still breathing. It was a fevered kiss driven by something you’d never felt so strongly before, and you needed more.

Nick sank to his knees, and you went naturally down with him. He sat back on his heels, and you followed, perching in his lap. He held you there, your core over his groin, for a delicious moment, and then suddenly he lifted you up and laid you softly but swiftly onto the soft flowery bed of the meadow, his lips never leaving yours. You gasped and giggled against his mouth.

“What a lovely sound,” he said tenderly. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, a satisfied grin on his face.

Whether it was smug or sweet, you weren’t sure, and you felt your cheeks growing warm under his hungry gaze and his soft praise.

“I wonder what other lovely sounds I can draw from you,” he added as both of his hands moved to your hips. He began kissing you again, having only given you a moment of reprieve, then his hands slid slowly up your waist, skimming up over your ribs, pushing up the fabric of your sweatshirt. When his thumbs brushed up against the underswell of your breasts, he pressed back and forth a few times, teasing you, drawing a little whimper, before he let his thumbs run up and over your nipples. They were both peaked, and you shivered in pleasure, the teasing through the fabric of your bra its own unique sensation, but you were eager for more, so you moved your hands to begin quickly unbuttoning his flannel. He took the hint, helping you by shrugging off his jacket, and when he leaned up for a moment to pull off his flannel and remove the t-shirt he had on beneath it, so you shifted beneath him to pull off your sweatshirt and reach for the clasp of your bra, tossing that to the side as well.

You hadn’t hesitated to rid yourself of your clothes, but you were hit with the rush of baring your chest to him now as – with his own clothing discarded – he froze and looked down at you from above. You flushed with heat, but as you moved one hand to tentatively cover yourself, he grabbed it in his, drew it up to his mouth, and kissed your palm.

You were aware of every imperfection as his eyes roved over your body, but when he looked into your eyes and said, “gorgeous,” his face was so serious, so hungry, you didn’t question that he meant it.

He lowered himself back down over you, supporting himself by planting one forearm on the ground next to your side, and this time his lips sought your chest. He kissed down your sternum, then took one breast in his mouth, and palmed the other with his free hand. You moaned as he sucked one nipple and rolled and teased the other with his fingers. You arched beneath him, your body responsive to his diligent ministrations. He switched to the other breast, flicking his tongue over the nipple before lapping and sucking at it. You hadn’t cum before from nipple play alone, but he had you wondering if you might as the pleasure mounted.

You trembled and whimpered beneath him, and as you began to writhe more desperately, he took his mouth off your breast with an audible pop. He moved back up your body, and his hand cupped your face again, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek, urging you to open your eyes and look at him.

“Tell me you never thought about it, about staying here with me after I left you earlier today,” he said.

You were already breathless, or else the powerful drive in his deep blue eyes would have stolen your breath once again.

“You must let me have you,” he implored.

You couldn’t answer, but only because you were overcome by the desire in his eyes. For you.

Your name fell from his lips, and his voice was soft, deep, and controlled, but you could still feel the edge of the desperate plea as he uttered your name.

“Yes,” you keened, and you rocked your hips up against his.

“Say the words,” he said. “Say my name and tell me I can have you.”

He slipped his hand down, hooked two fingers into your waistband, and pulled teasingly along the edge from your hip to just below your navel. The torturous movement along your soft skin only drove the hunger that was building for more.

He had to know how he was mounting and playing with the anticipation. But if he needed you to say it, you’d say anything to get what you wanted right now under the light of the full moon from this inimitable figure of a man, nearly unreal in his beauty.

“Nick, you can have me!” You cried.

He wasted no time in pulling your trousers and underwear down in one go. You tried to kick off your shoes, but slightly struggling to do so, his hands helped remove your shoes and socks more deftly, and he was able to more easily toss it all away. And as your legs settled back down on either side of him as he knelt above you, you realized he was suddenly somehow as naked as you – though you didn’t know how he managed that so quickly, so quickly it felt like magic. Everything about tonight felt illusory, and yet it was all tangible and indisputable, and you gave yourself over to it. When else would you ever find yourself in such an enchanted set of circumstances like this ever again?

So what if it felt like a dream?

You took a deep breath and let your fingers tangle in the grass and the stems of the wood anemone. Your eyes traveled up his thighs to a cock so thick and long and hard for you, then up further, over his hips, defined abs, chiseled chest, and broad shoulders, and you whined. Every inch of him ignited heat through your body, and when your eyes met his again, your pulse stuttered.

You could dream like this for one night.

Keeping his eyes locked on yours, Nick settled back on his haunches and pulled your thighs up over his, drawing you up over him, angling your lower half up as an offering, and his piercing cerulean gaze moved to your core, fully on display. His fingers brushed over your lower stomach, the touch so light it tickled, and you jerked, but his other hand held your hip firmly in place. His fingers parted your folds without hesitation, and he licked his lips.

“Such a pretty, wet cunt, my little nymph,” he said, and you felt both shy being so exposed to him, and desperate for him.

“Nymph?” you couldn’t help but question, surprised by the pet name. 

“Mhmm,” Nick hummed. He traced your wet folds with one finger, in no rush. “You belong to this forest.” He spread your wetness along those lips with the attention of an artist to his canvas. Then he slipped two fingers inside your cunt.

You gasped, and your eyes fluttered closed.

He pushed them all the way in, then gave a few slow, shallow thrusts in and out.

You never wanted to wake up from this, but you needed more.

“Nick, please!”

He withdrew his fingers and then pressed them to your lips. “Taste your sweet nectar, nymph.”

The digits easily slipped into your mouth, and the urge to suck was a near primal reaction. He applied gentle pressure on your tongue as you sucked, and it only drove the craving in your core further. You were entirely lucid, and yet you felt thoroughly intoxicated by him, by everything around you.

“Open your eyes,” he said, and you did.

You swore he could see into your soul when he looked at you so intensely, but rather than fear, it soothed your nerves. It also more deeply stoked your desire for him, and as much as you wanted to linger in this moment, there was an undeniable pull you couldn’t ignore.

“Kiss me,” you breathed.

He shifted to lean down over you, remaining rooted between your thighs but shifting forward so you were nearly chest to chest. He bore his weight on his forearms, caging you in. As he settled, lips only a breath away from you, you felt the weight of his large, thick cock rest on your stomach. You lifted your head to pull him into the kiss you wanted. You ached for him to fill you up, but you also wanted to give everything just to this kiss for a few beats longer.

It was like he was drinking you in. One of your arms came up around his back, the other brushed up along the side of his arm, seeking and ultimately finding his hand, and your fingers instinctively entwined together.

He moved his other hand down briefly to guide the head of his cock to your weeping hole, and you gave a little moan into his mouth as his head entered you.

As he seated his cock fully inside of you, the tip nudging your cervix, you had to break off your kiss to concentrate on breathing. Nick dropped his forehead to yours, seemingly unable to refuse some form of intimate closeness as he rocked into you again. “You can feel it,” he spoke, the warmth of his breath still close to your mouth.

“Yes,” you panted. Your legs wrapped around his torso. He resumed thrusting, slow, deep thrusts.

“I can feel it, too,” he murmured along your jaw. “You’re answering the call of the forest.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, hardly focused on what he was saying, but the deep warmth of his voice made the words swell through your mind.

He continued his unhurried thrusts, almost methodical in nature, and after a few more minutes, his cock began to swell inside you. And it continued to grow.

You moaned – or groaned – you couldn’t decipher if what you were feeling was real and whether it was painful or pure ecstasy. Your hand clasped his more tightly, and his answering squeeze was accompanied by tendrils of vines sprouting and circling around your hand and down around your wrist.

“What?” Your eyes flew open, and then you gasped. “Nick!”

He was transforming before your eyes. His face remained familiar, but a crown of horns appeared around his head, and emerald moss and glossy leaves intermingled and sprouted throughout his dark hair. Two enormous, magnificent antlers had emerged from his temple and were still slowly growing, just as he was still slowly growing inside you as he continued his steady thrusts. His shoulders broadened, and you knew he was growing in stature. 

You trembled beneath him, tears springing to your eyes, in danger of spilling over.

“I told you, my little nymph: I’m the king and guardian of this forest – it speaks to me like it wants to speak to you. You’re answering the call, and I can’t,” he paused to groan, and with a shiver, you felt the ridge of his spine shift from skin to a supple tree bark. “It’s midnight, and with you giving yourself to me and the forest, I can’t hold back my true form.”

He began to thrust more quickly in and out of your cunt, a few of the strokes a little erratic. You whimpered, overwhelmed, and a few tears spilled over your cheeks.

“No, none of that,” he scolded, but kissed away the tears. “You didn’t want to leave, and now you don’t have to, nor can you.”

His free hand moved between you and found your pulsing, puffy clit, applying immediate, furious little circles that refused to let you feel anything but pleasure in response to his ministrations. His lips reclaimed yours once again, and as your body continued to tremble, his thrusts sped up even more, your channel never more full, making the mounting wave of pain and pleasure so exquisite as the waves grew that you let out a sob as your orgasm crashed over you.

Unrelenting, as your cunt contracted around him, Nick more demandingly sought his own release. He moved both hands to grip your ribs below your wrists and railed into you with abandon, punching the air from your lungs over and over, and ultimately pushing you into a rushed second orgasm only seconds before he roared his own ecstasy, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep loads of his seed inside of you, a warmth you could feel permeating you.

And then Nick petted your face, showering kisses softly over your lips, cheeks, and eyelids before ultimately resting his forehead on yours, and gently caressing your neck.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you, for this, and now you're mine forever.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

If you enjoyed this at all, read the other two fics from the Enchanted Birthday Fest! They're both exquisite!

[aniron48]

offering

Another evening, another time I accidentally wrote a thing I didn't mean to. I have another short fic, which you can read under the cut and on ao3. It takes place after the canon ending of NTTD (so TW for a major character death). As I was working on a completely different (and much happier) sp00qy season fic, I kept finding my mind returning to one of my own cultural traditions, día de muertos, and the tradition of building altars, or ofrendas, to celebrate the dead. It's something that means a lot to me, and so eventually I gave in to the inevitable, and gave that to Q, too. There's a bit more explanation on ao3, as well as some translations for the Spanish.

Writing this gave me space for some of my own mingled joy and grief from the last few years. I hope it is a space that holds you gently as well.

“It’s terribly inconvenient, grieving you,” Q says to no one. “Somehow I think you’d like that.”

He clears his throat, adjusts the cempasúchil in their clear turquoise vase, and straightens the fuchsia cloth laid across his repurposed beside table. While he’s moving, grief is a verb, something he can do, instead of something he must carry. He has never been good at being still.

He hadn’t built an ofrenda in years, before he became Quartermaster. It was another tradition he’d let fade to dust, lost with his kind-eyed father before Q was old enough to shave. And then he’d started at MI6, where death walked the corridors, and sat in high-backed chairs: another bureaucrat, worn at the edges from her ceaseless work. Q had lost his first agent the same year they’d lost M, and suddenly nothing made sense but this. So much of grief in England was monochrome, a gray funeral in a gray stone cathedral where the only splash of color was the Union Jack draped across a casket. Q would never begrudge his colleagues that, but he needed this, the color and the irreverence and the bits of life he felt his ghosts were owed. 

“The dead are going to follow you home no matter what,” his father had explained once, the year Q’s grandmother had passed away. “Give them a corner of their own, or they’ll think the whole house is theirs.”

“There’s a certain logistical element to it,” Q says aloud. “I have to find a room I can shut the cats out of for at least a night and, well, you’ve seen the flat. They’d eat the pan de muerto, which is one thing, but it could actually be bad for them if they got into the whisky.”

He reaches out to turn the glass as he speaks, the late evening sun refracting off the crystal and turning it briefly into a prism that scatters shards of light across the room.

“It’s Macallan,” he says. “In case you were wondering. It’s tradition to leave the dead their favorite things, you see. Normally that’s food and drink, but, well.” Q gestures to the altar. “It’s just like you, to be as inimitable in death as you were—“ 

Q takes a long moment before he continues, his long fingers clenching and unclenching around his own untouched glass.

“Not many people have guns left out for them, I would imagine. Wouldn’t be safe. But then, no one can ever fire this one again, can they? No one but you. The height of Q Branch technology, and in the blink of an eye it was nothing but a relic. 

“So much of MI6 was like that, after. So many things I’d taken for granted, only when you were gone, they didn’t work anymore, and no one knew why.

“And then there’s this,” he says after a moment, pointing at the white ceramic bulldog draped in the British flag. “Imagine my surprise when they told me you’d left me this in your will. This, and an entire box of kit you’d said you’d lost, just sitting in your garage. It’s as if you deliberately went out of your way to make me remember you as a menace. And you were. You were that. But also—“

Q rubs a sleeve, uncaring, across his face. “Every now and then, out of the blue, something will remind me of you, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s a feeling, nothing more. And then I realized, it’s just living. You were so bloody alive that living reminds me of you. It drives me mad, because then I don’t have any choice but to keep doing it. Even during all those weeks right after, when there was nothing I wanted less.”

He stands, and runs a finger against the picture of Bond on the altar. In it, he’s laughing, unguarded and free. “You were never easy, but no one can convince me that the heart of you wasn’t good.”

Q stays there as the last of the light fades, until he has to light the candles on the altar to push back the dark.

“‘Amo el trozo de tierra que tú eres,’” Q says. “Descanse en paz, James.” He touches his glass to the one on the altar, and leaves the room to its ghosts.

[semi-imaginary-place]

ffxiv 4.0 hitting the steppe

the writers were having a field day coming up with all the different xaela tribes.

hmmm

like a mama duck and two baby ducks

Magnai's speech patterns are stranger in english than in japanese. he's just normal in japanese

haurchefant would have loved it here...

I don't think the devs thought through this whole horse Yol thing. What I think happened was that they wanted the aesthetics of central asian horse based nomadic people but they also wanted a cool flying mount and like the logistics of actual people living with both wasn't thought out.

what language is everyone speaking??? I'd assume its the xaela auri language expect you expect me to believe gosetsu, yugiri, and lyse who are all people who have never been to the steppe or had extensive contact with the xaela, understand what is being said. but the other option is equally ridiculous, the xaela are stated to be fairly isolated like foreign trade in reunion is still a new and rare thing, why the hell would they all know and speak hingan.

if the echo has an auto translate function does that mean the party doesn't understand what the wol is saying 90% of the time?

Hien complains of Magnai's arrogance but he's just as arrogant to think he deserves anything here.

wow Hien is condescending af what an asshole. i want to lock hien and magnai in a room together maybe they can tear down each other's overinflated egos.

i wonder if everyone is going to get a heart to heart, yugiri and now gostesu, npcs lining up. i was wondering how the game was or if they were at all going to deal with the parallels between ala mhigo and doma so the lyse hien convo was very important but oof hien needed what gosetsu got in his heart to heart, hien as a character is really suffering for being bereft of that.

still weird magnai is the only one not wearing yellow.

bruh player character was the one that one, hien why the hell are you giving orders you have no authority.

sui-no-sato myth speaks of a great disaster that drove the raen into the sea and as nomads the xaela don't seem big of giant stone constructions. so where did all the ruins and dawn throne come from? my pet headcanon is that there was a proto auri civilization that collapsed due to some disaster and the survivors left. the raen left the steppe entirely fleeing to the coast while the xaela left the immediate area but became nomadic. the sightseeing log also confirms that the xaela were once one tribe.

I can see why people have a problem with hien. he comes off as incredibly arrogant and condescending towards xaela culture. gosetsu just got here and he had a mini arc learning to be open of cultural differences, hien has been here much longer and yet he is still far behind gosetsu's development. Yeah sure xaela society is really violent and at times unjust but for the japanese king to come barging in about how savage the culture is, is a bad look. I'll give the devs the benefit of the doubt but just like how having all the plot important scion ala mhigans be blond haired, blue eyes, light skinned, and use midlander models while the rest of the ala mhigans are mostly dark haired, have medium skin colors, and have highlander models, the japanese prince coming in and talking about how these violent foreign asian savages need to be brought to heel is a bad look, it has unintentional parallels to real life acts of oppression and human rights violations that continue in the present day. at least the japanese invasions never got all that far into central asia. Who is hien to decide what the xaela do.

On that note, to have the more east asian fusion yanxia be dominated by hingan names and culture is another bad idea. as noted in the namazu quests most of the customs in the area are not yanxian, but hingan specifically. And while yanxia is more a fusion of east asian cultures similarly to but to a lesser extent to how eorzea is a fusion of various european cultures, hingashi is specifically japanese. This sadly calls to mind the japanese invasion and occupation throughout east and southeast asia where japanese language and cultural aspects became mandatory under occupation.

the way ffxiv handles all this isn't terrible like i wouldn't say its overtly fascist and I've certainly seen worse, but its not good either it has unfortunate implications and could have been done better.

[slowpoke-fics]

The Run | The Good Doctor pt 3

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing: Negan x Reader slow burn

Summary: You had a bit more responsibility than you'd expected, not to say you didn't know what you were doing

Warnings: none really, cussing, ooc Negan, slow burn, it's cute, I miss some and am not perfect, read at your own risk

A/N: This is part three to the Good Doctor Part 3! Thank you for being patient and I hope to have part four up much quicker. I liked this even though it's just some logistical stuff and insight, here is part two!

Maybe he thinks he can fix me, sucks for him, I'm broken beyond repair.

When you woke up, Negan had his hand on your shoulder, you immediately grabbed the gun under your pillow, holding it under his chin. He immediately grabbed the gun and twisted it out of your hands, your eyes now fully open and awake. You didn't realize he was eye level with you, how hot it was for him to control your gun like that, how hot he was staring into your eyes, waiting for your next move. You were frozen, you're not sure he equated it with anything but sleep, but he was captivating.

He laughed, hands up, "Damn, doll, just trying to fuckin' wake you up without fuckin' scaring you, see that was fuckin' pointless," his eyebrows raised as he shook the gun by the barrel at you, "you want it back or not?" You shook your head in disbelief as you took your gun and put it down, shocked that you held a gun to someone for just trying to wake you up. "I-I'm sorry, I guess it was just-" Negan laughed, "No worries, doll, at least I know you can take care of yourself."

You smiled, throwing the blanket off of you and swinging your legs over the couch, “So,” you stood up and began folding the blanket, “what’s the plan?” He watched you fold the blanket, not trying to hide the fact that his eyes roamed your body. Taking in the battered bluejeans that hugged your body, the scratched and slightly torn tank top, your hair shining against the sun, really popping the color out. “We’re going to drive a little longer than I’d hoped but,” he huffed, “the towns supposed to have some more supplies left than we’d originally thought, we should be back by dark.” You shrugged, “Should be fun, are we ready to leave now?”

Negan leaned against the desk, you took all of him in. He was wearing his classic leather jacket over the tattered t-shirt and blue jeans that laid over his steel toe boots. He watched as you put your hair into a pony tail, shirt playing peekaboo with the skin on your torso, “Right after breakfast doll. You ready?” You nodded at him, heading to the door with him following close behind.

Once you had sat down for breakfast Negan started shoveling food down, a full plate compared to your half rations. You didn’t really have much of an appetite, worried about everything that could happen with Negan today. He didn’t seem to notice, and by the time you’d finished your small plate, he was already done eating too. He grabbed your plate so he could return it with his own. You picked up the bags and followed suit, following him out the door and to his truck.

The truck was huge. Had to have been able to fit half of Alexanndria's storage. You’d wondered how much he was planning to come back with. It started to make a little more sense when a small portion of his crew jumped into the back, probably for protection. You climbed into the truck after Negan opened the door for you, closing it once he’d known your feet were out of the way. Then proceeding to climb in his own side.

Negan started the truck, taking you in before he started rolling. Your legs crossed, fingers interlocked at the top of your thighs, thumbs picking at each other, ankle continuously moving. You watched the trucks behind you, following close, at least three others. Did all of them have people in the back? How big was this run?

You were clearly nervous and he hated that, he wanted to make you as comfortable as possible. He tried to ignore it, but after fifteen minutes of non stop thought through his head, he had to say something. "God damn doll," Negan bellowed, "you're gonna roll the damn truck if you don't stop shaking so much," Negan lightly rubbed your forearm, a foreign thing to you, "what're ya so fuckin' nervous about anyway princess?"

You shrugged, a look of uneasiness resting on your face at his nickname for you that didn't go unnoticed, "Just don't know how to act with your group, what're your run rules? Where do I not be in the way? Will I distract you and your men? I'm used to going solo, or with one or two people. There's so-" Negan had to stop your monologue, knowing you've asked these questions twenty times since yesterday. "Don't fuckin' worry about it," Negan smiled, "I made sure this was gonna be fun for you." Your eyebrows curled, needing him to explain.

Negan blushed? No way, you thought and left it alone. "What do you mean?" He shrugged, "You'll see, won't you doll?" You huffed, "Well that just makes me more nervous." Negan let out a hearty laugh, "Damn girl, pull at this old assholes strings huh?" He shook his head, "I'm your personal companion today," he giggled at your slap to his arm. "I don't need a baby sitter!" He raised he hands very quickly to show defense, "No! But, wherever you go, I do. Whatever you fuckin' say, that's law. Everyone else goes at your direction too," he paused, looking at you, "but you don't leave my fuckin' sight," his eyes bore into you, demanding confirmation. "Yeah, okay," you smiled lightly.

"So," Negan's fingers drilled the steering wheel as he hummed at you to continue, "what's in this place?" Negan shifted, "It's a little town, the rest is a surprise." He looked genuinely excited, and you wondered how this apocalypse had changed him as a man. He couldn't have always been this heartless. "Do I get any hints?" Negan hummed again, this time searching for something to give you, "You'll fuckin' like it." You shrugged, "Maybe." He glanced to your bag where you keep your notebook, a gentle reminder of his broken trust. "Oh," you cleared your throat, "hopefully." He beamed at you, "Come on lil' fuckin' firecracker," he pressed the gas a couple more times, gently swerving the car to play with you, "be more fuckin' excited! I'm fuckin' kidding!"

The rest of the way you could believe how different Negan was being. He was intently talking to you about the grid of the town, what his crew already know about, how his crew has already been briefed that you're running it, explained the teams to you and that you're header, leading the team leaders, and he's told you that he's confident you have this ability. You were shocked about him being completely different man that with other people. You were sure that you could be with the man sitting in the truck with you, and you were sure that you couldn't be with the man who murdered someone you considered to be your brother. You were torn between seeing his good and never forgiving him for killing Glenn, how could he do something so vile? You shook your head, drawing attention back to the road and off of your thoughts.

When you arrived, Negan placed his hand on your thigh, just barely touching you. "There is one rule," he smiled, "stay here." Negan was gone for no more than two minutes. He finally came to your door, opening it and revealing his many men standing behind him, "Make sure you're safe." He reached for your hand, dropping you down to the same man who stole from you in your clinic, you glared him hiding behind Negan.

Negan stepped out of the way, the man looking guilty, "Hello, Doctor Y/n," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry for stealing from an honorable woman." He handed you a gum pack, missing a few pieces, and a small pack of skittles, "I couldn't find gum to replace what I'd stolen, so I hoped that the skittles would excuse my poor manners." You smiled hatefully at him, taking what was in his hand, "Apology accepted..." you waited for him to say his name, but Negan chimed in. "Brady," and he slapped the other man on the shoulder eliciting a smile, "and Simon." You smiled, reaching your hand out to shake Simon's hand, "I've heard." Negan smiled at you, "Good we're all fuckin' aquatinted," he roughly slapped Brady's shoulder, you didn't miss the wince he tried to hide, "these two travel with us period. So, Y/n," a bright smile, "what's the fucking plan?"

With that you noticed the other men had cleared a path for you, letting you view the town. At this point you took in the town, looking at the tiny shops and small streets. Negan wasn't kidding, it's a small town, surely the four trucks you bought could fit everything. You thought for a second, and it hit you, how much work he had put into this. You smiled to yourself, knowing that he wanted to make this go smoothly for you, hence the perfect amount of trucks, a grid, briefed men.

You walked a little behind you, looking at the different streets, looking at Negan, he smiled, giving you some confidence. "You said that you'd already separated these men by trucks? With their usual teams?" You whispered to Negan, "Yes ma'am, they're with their usual team leaders and already armored, just need you to tell them where to go n what to do."

"Okay, so here's my plan-" Negan put his hand up, gesturing to the men when you realized you should be talking to them. You cleared your throat, "Okay, so here's the plan," Negan's body was just barely pressing against you, standing behind you on your left side, his hands in his pockets, watching his men intently listen to you. How hard did he work on this for you?

"If you came in Negan's truck, you're with us on main," you motioned with your hand to have them move to the side, "Truck two-or rather-team two, you're going to our left, Combs Street, when you get to the library, we're looking for education books, if we have time and space after you've gotten everything else essential on the street, comb the library taking the fun books, that's a good part of life now." Negan nodded, liking your plan for education first, noting that the houses on the street might hold value, but acknowledging that we still need distractions like 'fun books' if circumstances allowed.

"Truck three, hit the residential area, on Langley Street," you continued when the men nodded their heads, "Truck four, hit the shops to our right on second street," everyone started moving and you shouted, "wait!" You cleared your throat once again, "Team leaders, I need you and your right hand man, everyone else stay put."

You pulled out the grid as the men surrounded you, "So you've got the left and right sides on your street, split in half, half on Side A, the left, half on side B, the right, this will increase the time we can spend in the houses and avoid stepping on each others feet. Every time you clear a house you call it in, for example, team four A, you would say 'Team Four, A1 clear, moving to A2,' or 'Team Four A Trapped, requesting Four B at A3.' I need you to do this so I can designate resources and men, keep up with the lives and walkers. No need for needless death, check in." Everyone nodded, you smiled, "Anybody have questions, comments or concerns?" The men shook their heads and you turned back towards the crowd, "Alright, everyone knows what you're doing, no-one goes anywhere alone or unarmed. Take everything useful. Do not let your guard down and watch your backs. Dismissed." At that the men dissipated, going on their own assignments.

"Was that okay?" You looked to Negan, the need for approval swimming through your eyes, Negan nodded, "I think it was great, Simon what about you?" Simon chirped up, "Oh yeah, couldn't have done it better myself, I don't make them check in that much but that's okay." You smiled at Simon, wondering how he could not worry about his men that much. You watched as Team One had already started moving toward the first building, them the first check-ins started.

"Team One, heading to A1," a pause, "Team One, heading to B1," another pause, "Team Two, heading to A1." You listened to the team list off their locations, smiling as everyone checked in. "Alright, doll," Negan leaned against the truck, "Where to first?"

[deanstop13billyjoeltraxx]

Empty Space

A fix-it fic because we were ROBBED.

I wrote this for my own closure, and it is unedited, but I thought I would post it here anyway. 

Dean didn’t want to open his eyes.

He couldn’t feel the chains and the heat, or hear the screams. Not yet. But he knew it would come. He wanted to savor these final moments of simple nothingness. A story left unfinished. The bliss that came before eternal suffering. There was no coming back this time. 

He could still feel Sam cradling him. His last breath. The pain in his back.

This was it.

Dean stood for god knows how long, willing himself anywhere but where he knew he was. The Veil, the Empty, hell, even being reincarnated as a tree would be better than whatever was waiting in front of him. 

A bird chirped, startling Dean’s eyes open. 

He stood in the middle of a field adjacent to a road, tall pines lining the asphalt. The sun nearly blinded him, and he put a hand up to shield his eyes. It shone in that in-between kind of way, as if it was the middle of October, everything in flux. He could see a small, wooden building not too far ahead. Dean looked at his hands, then back up at the sky. 

“Huh,” he huffed. “I made it.” 

It was both a statement and a question. I made it to heaven. How did I make it to heaven? Dean took a step towards the house, half expecting the jig to be up at that point. When the ground didn’t crumble beneath him, and the bright blue sky didn’t melt away into hellfire, he took another step, one with more conviction. And then he was walking toward the building.

Dean’s mind was racing. With what memory would he be spending eternity? If his life hadn’t flashed before his eyes at his death, it sure as hell was now. Dean swallowed hard at the revelation that there were too many heavens for him, that his life had so many more good memories than he had ever given it credit for. Motel rooms with Sam, Lawrence with Mary, Jody’s dinner table… And Cas. Bars with Cas, the Impala with Cas, the bunker with Cas… 

He knew Cas wouldn’t be in his heaven. That was more torture than paradise. Dean would look at Cas and only see all the things he never said.

Finally, Dean reached the building. Someone was sitting in a rocking chair -- 

“Bobby?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“Hey, kid,” Bobby said with a smile. “Took you long enough.”

“What memory is this?” Dean had realized he was standing on the porch of Ellen’s roadhouse. But where was Sam, where was his mom, where was -- 

“It’s not a memory,” Bobby said.

“What? But I thought --”

Bobby shrugged. “Things have changed around here. Your boy, he shook things up. For the better,” he added, opening the cooler next to his chair. “You can sit, you know.”

Dean accepted the invitation, settling into the rocking chair across from Bobby. He graciously accepted the beer from Bobby’s hand. “So… Jack did… all this?” He asked, taking a sip. 

“Well,” Bobby sighed, shifting in his seat. “Cas helped.” 

Dean nearly choked on his beer. Not that it would matter. I’m already dead, his brain joked, helpfully. 

“C-Cas?” He whispered, searching Bobby’s face for answers. 

Bobby just raised his eyebrows and took another swig. 

Dean stared down at his hands. Bobby was explaining the logistics of this new heaven, how Rufus lived five miles down the road, how Mary and John had a place not too far from Bobby’s. Dean could hear him, but his mind was miles away. 

“Dean?” Bobby prodded, evidently having finished his explanation. Dean nodded at him, a wry smile on his face. 

“It’s almost perfect,” he said, and he meant so many things. If Sam was here, it’d be perfect. If Jack was here, it’d be perfect. 

If Cas was here, it’d be perfect.

“He’ll be along,” Bobby said, referring to Sam. Dean nodded again. “It’ll take time, but he’ll be here.” 

“How long?” Dean asked, looking up to meet Bobby’s eyes. 

Bobby just shrugged. “Time passes differently here,” he answered. 

“What do I do?”

“What do you want to do?” 

Dean considered the question and realized it might be the first time he’d ever asked it of himself. 

“I think I’ll go for a drive.” 

Cas watched Dean die from a distance. 

He might have been able to find some comedic irony in the whole thing. Dean Winchester, who beat God, killed Death, saved the world…  killed by a rusty barn nail. 

Cas watched Sam burn Dean’s body. 

Cas watched new hunters.

Cas watched old friends.

Cas watched humanity learn to live in a world without his family protecting it.

But mostly, Cas just watched Dean. 

He watched him as he opened his eyes in heaven. He watched him talk to Bobby. He watched him get in the Impala.

He watched him drive. 

Dean drove for miles, windows down, Led Zeppelin screaming through his speakers. Cas watched him bellow the lyrics offkey, watched him pump his fists in the air, watched him push 120 with his eyes closed because, of course he would, it’s Dean. 

Cas watched all of this, but he did nothing.

Cas had fully expected the eternal sleep of the Empty. Embraced it, really. But instead, he simply woke up in heaven. It was a little bleak for a while there, with Chuck attempting to destroy the universe and all that, but then there was Jack. 

“What am I doing here?” Cas asked. “I’m supposed to be…”

“The Empty can’t take you,” Jack replied with a smile. “You have a soul.”

Cas tilted his head in confusion. “I’m an angel,” he said in monotone.

“Yes,” Jack said. “With a soul.” 

“How is that even possible?” Cas asked, now entirely at a loss. 

Jack shrugged. “It might have something to do with your true happiness.”

Cas blanched at that. 

Jack was glad to have him in heaven. He needed all the help he could get, he said, changing the place, making it more of a paradise and less of a prison. 

Cas was happy to oblige him, but quietly, reservedly. 

What was it? Your moment of true happiness?

Cas couldn’t tell him. Not while Dean was still alive, while he had a chance at a normal life. Jack would want Cas to see him, talk to him, to do something, and Cas couldn’t. He wouldn’t take that chance from Dean. Not ever. 

And now? Dean was dead. His story, over. No more second chances. Cas knew he would have to do something eventually.

And still, he watched.

He watched Dean pull the Impala to a stop on top of a bridge. Take a deep breath. Get out of the car. Look around. 

Cas watched Dean bow his head. 

And, finally, Cas watched Dean pray.

This might be the dumbest shit I have ever done.

Wait, can I swear in heaven?

Hmm… Fuck?

Awesome.

Anyway, this is definitely the dumbest shit I have ever done. I’m in heaven. Who prays when they’re already in heaven? But, anyway, it worked in Purgatory, so I figured it might work here…

I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry I got myself sent to hell and you had to save me. I’m sorry that every time you tried to do right by me, I told you how you fucked it up. I’m sorry that you rebelled for me. I’m sorry that you gave up an army for me. I’m sorry that you died to save me. More than once. 

Jesus, am I sorry you died thinking anything but the truth.

Cas, I don’t know where you are, or if you’re busy, or if you never want to see me again. But if you got time… I got something to tell you. 

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes shot open. His heart was pounding -- weird, I still have a heartbeat? -- his mouth had gone dry. He felt rooted to the spot, as if turning around and seeing one more bit of perfection might shatter the rose-colored glass. 

But he turned around anyway. Slowly. Deliberately. 

And there he was, stupid trenchcoat and all.

Cas.

Dean could barely swallow over the lump in his throat. Cas was regarding him with a curious, reserved expression, his hands in his pockets. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean whispered.

“I heard your prayer,” Cas said, and it was all Dean could do to choke back a tearful laugh. “You said you… had something to tell me.” 

And, shit, if Dean had thought being dead would make baring his soul any easier, he was dead fucking wrong. 

“Uh,” he shifted on his feet. “How long you been back?” 

Cas shrugged. “I never really left,” he said. 

“What? I saw the Empty take you.”

“I don’t know. I woke up in heaven. Well, the other heaven,” Cas said. “Jack seems to think I somehow… Gained a soul.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “It makes sense… I think,” Cas continued. “My moment of true happiness, it fundamentally altered who I was. Happiness is a uniquely human experience. When I finally achieved that, something in me became human.”

“Well, Jack is God, now,” Dean said with an awkward chuckle. “So he must be right. All-knowing or whatever.” 

“Right,” Cas said, eyes narrowed. 

“I guess you’ve been busy,” Dean said. He didn’t say, that’s why you didn’t come to see me. 

“Indeed.” 

How can I still manage to fuck this up in heaven, Dean yelled at himself, looking anywhere but Cas’ suspicious face. 

“Dean?” Cas prodded, and that was enough. 

Dean closed the distance between them in three long strides, wrapping Cas up in his arms. Cas went rigid with surprise, but eventually, he hugged back. 

“I thought you were gone,” Dean whispered. “Like, really, really gone.”

“I did too,” Cas replied. 

Dean’s face was wet with tears, but he buried it in Cas’ shoulder anyway. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck. Okay.” 

He lifted his head, but didn’t release Cas from the hug. They stood, locked in embrace, while Dean screwed up his courage. 

“You can have it, you know,” he said softly over Cas’ shoulder.

It seemed like every atom in Cas’ body stopped moving. His shoulders tensed, and he maneuvered out of Dean’s arms. 

“What?” He asked. Dean panicked for a moment, seeing Cas’ guarded eyes. He almost convinced himself to laugh it off, punch Cas in the arm, make some joke about how this really must be heaven if the Impala can go that fast, but he stopped himself. 

“You told me, before you… That the one thing you want, you can’t have it,” Dean said, forcing himself to hold Cas’ gaze. “Well, I’m telling you now, you can have it.” 

“I don’t understand --” Cas tried to say, but Dean leaned in and the words were gone. 

The kiss was everything he could have wanted and nothing he could have dreamed of. The feeling of right, of home settled into Dean’s molecular makeup, as if this was all it would have taken to fix him all those times he had been broken. As if the gaping hole in his chest was always just Cas-shaped empty space. 

Cas pulled away slowly. Was he in a dream? Was he actually asleep, in the Empty, and now it was playing with him?

“Dean,” Cas said. “Are you --”

“In love with you? Yes,” Dean finished, urgent. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it back there. I didn’t -- you left so fast.” 

Cas blinked. “I wasn’t expecting a response,” he said, his mind feeling more than a little fried. 

“You weren’t…” Dean trailed off into a chuckle. “Really?” He asked, smiling, his eyebrows raised. 

Cas would have spent every eternity in the Empty for that smile. 

“Really,” Cas said, smiling wryly back. “Evidently, I was incorrect in that assumption.” 

“You gave me a whole speech, Cas,” Dean said. “What was I supposed to say?” 

Cas gave him a serious look. “You needed to hear those things, Dean. I couldn’t leave without you knowing how I felt about you.” He swallowed. “You are real, though?” 

Dean stared at him for a moment, then pulled him into another kiss. Cas thought he must have a soul, and this must be heaven, because nothing in his millennium had ever felt like kissing Dean Winchester. 

“That answer your question?” Dean said after pulling away. 

“Yes,” Cas said softly. “It does.”  

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Drifters ch.7 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Edge and Red have a brotherly dispute. It goes great.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Violence, Rescued Child, Medical Experimentation, Babybones

Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge had gone long nights without sleep before. As a child, he’d often spent the night curled up with his brother in hidden corners and caves, struggling for any measure of warmth beneath threadbare blankets as they both kept half-awake listening for any telltale footsteps coming their way.

As an adult, he often stayed awake on his own accord. There was always work to be done, whether for the guard or simple housekeeping, and he subsisted on no more than four hours of sleep a night. It was sufficient to replenish his magic and that was all that was necessary. Armed with that knowledge, it made it very difficult to understand why caring for an infant throughout a single night seemed so much worse.

Every two hours, she woke crying for a bottle, with enough accuracy he could nearly set a clock by it. It would start with a whimper and before Edge could even throw back the blankets, her screams would reach their peak earsplitting volume. Even Stretch couldn’t sleep through those wails and the first two times, he’d been the one to stagger downstairs for a bottle. Edge was certain on the last occasion he never opened his eye sockets, and he was torn on whether teleporting in the midst of exhaustion was more or less a danger than the chance he might fall down the stairs.

Rather than test that theory, Edge went to heat the bottle the next time and if he’d thought trying to comfort the baby while waiting for her meal to arrive was difficult, standing over a pot of water trying to will it to heat faster was somehow worse. At least he could attempt to reason with a baby, physics obeyed no rules but their own.

Each time she would drain the bottle and then immediately fall back asleep. The logistics of it were so simple, retrieve bottle, feed baby, then back to sleep. She didn’t even require a diaper change like so many other infants would, so why was this so blasted exhausting. His current belief was that somehow her cry drained energy like some sort of localized version of a vampiric spell and next time he was determined to run a check on himself to ascertain the truth.

But that would have to wait until they’d all gotten some rest. After her last bottle, not only had the chore of washing it out immediately after use been abandoned, so had tucking her into her own bed. In his sleep-deprived state, Edge decided that if she slept by the wall with him between her and Stretch, then she would be safe from being squashed in the night. As a strategy it did work, for about an hour, until Stretch rolled over in his sleep, right off the edge of the mattress to the floor with a loud thump and a louder curse.

Edge managed to wake up enough to check that he hadn’t accidently dusted himself in the fall and then promptly fell back asleep. The child hadn’t woken, that was the important part, and he could only hope that sleeping children didn’t learn foul language through some form of mental osmosis.

When he woke again, it wasn’t to the baby’s cries, but a stream of artificial sunlight coming through the curtains to fall across his face. He cringed away from it, but it was too late. The light was like the angel’s finger poking him directly in the socket, the time for sleep was over, and now he needed to face the harsh light of day.

A bleary look to one side found the bed empty and what remained of the blankets looked as if a tornado struck, not of trash, but one made up of baby’s tears.

Edge peered over the side of the mattress to find Stretch still snoring on the floor. Sleep was perhaps a less accurate description than out cold, he looked as if an alarm clock set atop his skull wouldn’t wake him. On the floor under his mouth was a darkened patch of drool, he was half-tangled in one of the blankets with one bare leg sprawled out across the carpet, toes curling against the cool air, and he did not stir one single inch despite the loudly creaking bedsprings. Plus, the light couldn’t reach him down there. Edge allowed himself a brief instant of rueful resentment before rolling to the other side to deal with the child, who over the course of the evening dwindled from Stretch affectionately calling her a ‘little snow princess’ down to the simply ‘the kid’.

“It’s all right, child, he’ll do better after some rest,” Edge said blearily…to no one at all. The sheet next to him was empty and for a moment, Edge only stared at it uncomprehendingly, cold panic slowly settling in his soul at the unbearable nightmare that was unfolding before him. That Alphys had found them out and come for her, the machine not destroyed enough and instead the portal was lying wide open like a gaping wound as not one, but an army of Underfell Monsters came through.

He shook away that fear before it could take root, dismissing it as impossible. To begin with, her first step would have been to murder them as they slept. Casting aside that panic only allowed a new one to take its place, the mystery of ‘then where is she’ still unanswered.

She was too young to have crawled away, she was nowhere in the room, so that left one last possibility. Edge clambered out of the bed, stepping over Stretch’s prone body as he jerked on the bathrobe and headed out to find his brother.

Who was sitting peaceably on the sofa with his pilfered infant settled contentedly in his lap, staring up at him with wide sockets as her chubby cheek bones puffed out with every suck on her bottle.

Red didn’t even look up as Edge stormed down to stand in front of him. The fury of his glares had never been able to penetrate much through Red’s aura of casual ease. His brother was humming softly, a song that Edge knew the lyrics to quite well and could at least be grateful that Red didn’t choose to share them with the child.

“’bout time you got up, bro,” Red said, singsong sweet. He was laying back against the sofa arm with the baby cradled between his knees. “you was sleepin’ pretty hard up there. kiddo was awake and getting’ ready to start complaining’ when i came in to play fetch.” His tone was easy, but Edge did not miss the sharp censure in his glance, crimson eye lights coolly assessing.

“I wouldn’t count on it happening again,” Edge said coldly. He met his brother’s gaze unflinchingly, waiting until his brother slowly nodded. Apology accepted, as it were, and Red turned his attention back to the baby.

“this little miss is a hungry one.” He gave the bottle an idle tug, grinning as the baby made a querulous noise and clung to it, never pausing in her urgent sucking. “drinks her weight and then some, don’t she. you were the same way, never could scrape up enough chow to keep you happy.” It was fondly said, but Edge only barely kept himself from wincing. He didn’t want to remember days of going hungry, the gnawing, endless emptiness inside his soul, wanted even less to picture the same thing happening to this child.

(never, never, he wouldn’t allow it, he would not)

“I doubt that will change anytime soon. Speaking of which, if you could watch over her, I’ll be going out today.”

“huh?” That got his brother’s attention. “what the fuck for?”

“To find a job of some sort, to begin with,” Edge said, “We can hardly expect the Swap brothers’ to keep paying our way.” He didn’t have the first clue what formula cost, but he suspected that it was not cheap.

“fuck, bro, we’ve been here two minutes and you’re already polishin’ your resume?” Red groaned. “take a day to get settled in, fer cryin’ out loud!”

“There’s no time for that. I was also going to go to the librarby to find a book on childrearing—”

He broke off as Red hooted a harsh laugh. “you serious, bro? you think you’re gonna find an old copy of ‘what to expect with your skele-baby’s first year’? gonna set up some training time with the local moms, mebbe they can teach you their special parenting attacks. you’ll be captain of the childrearing guild in no time, bro, better start working on your uniform now.”

“You—” Edge began and couldn’t continue, only stood listening mutely as his brother’s laughter soured, his words going bitter.

“think i fucked up that bad with you, is that it?”

It wasn’t at all true. He knew very well that his brother did the best he could, he’d been a child himself, he never should have had to help with an infant. He knew that, they both did, but the words refused to come. Before either of them could say another word, spiteful or otherwise, another voice entered the fray, sleep-sodden and mellow.

“you two loud enough down here?” From upstairs and Edge looked up to see Stretch ambling down the stairs, still yawning and rubbing at his sockets. He was only wearing a pair of shorts, the rest of his lanky bones on display from the crown of his skull to his bare toes, and he had no right to look as simply attractive as he did despite the darkened crescents beneath his sockets.

“sorry, sleeping beauty,” Red snorted, “next time we’ll work on our charades instead, how’s this ta start?”

Stretch ignored Red’s upraised middle finger, slouching closer to peer at the baby. “where did the jammies come from?”

Red jerked his head towards the front door where a paper sack was slumped by the various shoes. “your doggo pal dropped off some clothes. didn’t seem to know what to make of me, think maybe he decided blue went for a big fashion change.”

“bet he’ll appreciate hearing about going goth at the next sentry meeting.”

The mention of pajamas made Edge take a closer look at the child. He’d been so relieved to see the baby was safe that he hadn’t even noticed her change in apparel. She looked like a proper baby now, from the cozy footie pajamas to the colorful bib around her neck. The bottle was long since empty, but she hadn’t yet surrendered on the off chance that perhaps a few last drops might yet make an appearance.

Stretch didn’t wait for her to give up on it and simply took it away, scooping her up despite Red’s disgruntled protests, and cuddled her close. “lookin’ good, sugar butt!”

He buzzed a wet, noisy kiss against her cheek bone and she squealed in delight, then hiccoughed, a dribble of milk running from her mouth that dripped down to stain the bib. “uh huh, like that is it, everybody is a critic.” He swung her gently around and Edge automatically took her as Stretch deposited her into his arms, “here, edgelord, the princess needs a bath.”

A bath. That much was certainly true after a restlessness night of milky dribbles.

Edge didn’t move, he only held her uncertainly, shuffling his feet as he reluctantly admitted, “I don’t know how.”

“it’s easy,” Stretch yawned, his spine popping as he raised both arms over his head with a groan, “just bend over. you’ll have to handle it, you’re young and flexible, my back is talking to me like a bowl of rice krispies. wash her like you’d wash your feet. not too hot on the water and there’s bubble bath under the sink. go easy on it or it’ll be like trying to grab a greased watermelon in an ice storm.”

With that direction, Stretch only stared at him expectantly. There was nothing he could say, no protest to be made, and Edge turned on his heel and went back upstairs to the bathroom. He stood by the empty tub, looking down at the baby in his arms. She looked back at him, her thumb firmly in her mouth and her eye lights wide and bright.

So small and delicate, her skull small enough to fit in the cup of his hand. A tiny being composed of fragile bones, it would be entirely too easily for some careless fool to accidentally hurt her. Even if they didn’t mean to, even if they were only trying to help.

He couldn’t do this.

Edge lurched around, heading out the door and ready to call down to Stretch to admit his uselessness when heard his brother’s voice.

“…tryin’ to tell me how to deal with my bro?” So dangerously soft, a warning rarely given for their intended recipient to take care with whatever they said next.

“actually, no, i’m not,” Stretch said. There was a creak of springs as if he’d settled to sit on the sofa. “i wouldn’t do that to you guys. it’s just, he’s not used to all this, so go easy on him, will you? he’s trying really damned hard, he doesn’t need you ragging on him right now about the kid. he thinks the world of you, you gotta know that. so bust his chops about anything else, the baby is off limits. please.”

He couldn’t see downstairs, so he could only imagine what expression was on Stretch’s face that would be enough to make his brother grumble out, “yeah, yeah, honey bun, i get it. lay off until he lands on his feet.”

“thank you. he’s got this, you know. his confidence only took a shake, happens to everyone when they take a step or two out of the comfort zone. give him a little time, he’ll be a whiz. lining up for his best dad coffee mug before we know it.”

“eh, he’s already doing pretty good, ain’t he,” Red said with obvious pride. Edge closed his sockets, swallowing against the sudden thickness in his throat as he listened. “shoulda seen him bustin’ up that lab, kid never hesitated. just grabbed up the little miss and started wreckin’ the joint.”

“i bet. sorry i missed it.” Stretch said, sincerely, and if there was a certain dark satisfaction in those words, it was certainly understandable.

In his arms, the baby began to squirm, and Edge hastily slipped back into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind them. He settled the baby on the bathmat and turned on the taps, adding a single capful of bubble bath and cautiously checking the temperature before kneeling at her side.

“Ready for a bath?” he asked her, already working to gently strip off her pajamas.

He took her gabbling squeal as a yes and if he, and the bathroom, were nearly as wet as she was by the time she was scrubbed clean, well, that was fine. He’d do better next time.

tbc

[faraway-in-headspace]

I?? I searched Chicken Choice Judy on google out of curiosity because it sounds oddly familiar like there’s a similar-sounding name and I found 4 websites selling the shirt design. But the descriptions on these pages are BUCK WILD??

Written version of the descriptions under the cut (very long).

[Begin ID

First image states:  Long ago, when I had hair, I was an undergrad living in a house with nine other men. Near as I can tell, three of them (not sure which three) never bought food, just lived off what they stole from the Chicken Choice Judy shirt But I will love this other seven. We had several house meetings about it, but nothing changed. One day, I came in from grocery shopping. By coincidence, all 10 of us were in the kitchen. I started putting my stuff away. 1st thing I pulled out of the bag was my half-gallon of milk. I opened the carton, took a couple of drinks from the carton, then gargled some of it, and spit it back in. I opened my tub of margarine and licked the whole surface. By now, the room chatter had stopped because the other nine jaws had dropped open.) To your original question, those specific topics would take several years to build, as they depend on several layers of pre-requisites, which would require either that more advanced topics such as algebraic topology to be taught in elementary school, or that the buildup process happened blazingly fast during high school – both of which probably stretch the biological limits of what pre-teens and teenagers can reasonably be expected to accomplish. I spit on all my veggies, took the bread out of the package, and licked and spit on it, then carefully put it all back in the plastic bag. Remind teenage daughters to look through them before going on date with the boyfriend, in case they want to use one. I labeled it all and put it away. None of it was stolen. I never said a word, but I made it a point to repeat the performance anytime anyone was around to see it. Others began to emulate my approach and food theft stopped. Even I found it revolting, but it solved the problem. Works even better if you are sick or can at least make your thieving roommates think you are. While some cities are starting to reopen in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, people around the country are continuing to wear masks in public and practice social distancing. Vogue is committed to staying safe, and offering hopeful, optimistic content that highlights moments of camaraderie and exceptional acts of heroism from around the world. We are all looking for a little comfort too—be it a soothing Instagram account or a stylish creator on TikTok. It reminds us of the power of little things.

Second image states:  A couple of guests informed me my office was too minimalist and that they expected more things to be hanging on my wall the Chicken Choice Judy shirt besides I will buy this next time they visited my wife’s and my home. I kinda hope they held their breath while they were waiting for our next invitation. They both went on to backstab me and my wife pretty bad a few years later. Another set of guests tried to squat. I had driven them all the way from Florida to Massachusetts under the impression that they had jobs and a place to live lined up. They offered no money for gas, hotels on the three-day trip, or compensation for the inconvenience and effort. He even tried to weasel out of the dinner he offered as a thank you by forgetting his wallet. The dude got me off the streets years ago and I wanted to pay him back in some way, but my wife and I were in no position to have extra residents in our home. We just don’t have the room or money. I made all of this VERY clear and told my old buddy that we could only house them for a couple of days max. There are MANY other details, but the disrespectful thing my former friend said was wordless. As I was kicking them out and they were angrily loading stuff into my car to bring them anywhere but here, my buddy left his gigantic knife right in the center of my wife’s desk. Like that was supposed to make us change our minds and let them stay? In the days of dial-up, I had a family call and not be able to get through because we were online. They decided to show up unannounced. They literally caught me in my underwear as they were let into the apartment before I could even react to being rudely surprised. Some of my family members have a history of abuse, violence, and stalking, something at least one of the visitors, my mother, was quite aware of since she lived through it with me. Her tagalong friend decided to put in her two cents and tell me I should get a call waiting or a second line because they were trying to call me. That did it! I suddenly forgot I was just wearing underwear and angrily asked my mother’s friend if she was paying my phone bill. My mother-in-law, stepfather and mom’s friend beat a hasty retreat and NEVER did the pop-in ever again.

Third image states:  That was why when we did get to reality shows, Etro and then Dolce & Gabbana plus Jacquemus later in France, it was wonderful. Clothes are all about contact: As a wearer, you feel them on your skin, and as a watcher, you process them with your eye. The watching part can be done secondhand, but the Chicken Choice Judy shirt in contrast I will get this impact will always be second to the real thing. I read some commentators in the U.S. saying, “Too soon” or “Wear a damn mask!” which I always did, but these opinions while valid enough lack perspective. Milan and its surrounding region Lombardy went through what New York did but earlier. Through sagacious governmental management much more effective than that of the U.S., Italy has managed dramatically to flatten the curve across the rest of its territory. These shows just like the reopening of flights, stores, factories, and restaurants were symptomatic of recovery that, far from being taken for granted, is being tended to with vigilance and cherished with gratitude. The digital Fashion Weeks were better than no Fashion Weeks at all, but as an upgrade on the real thing? Nah. Like everyone, I missed the shows in the experiential sense this season. But for the first time since I began covering the collections several years ago, I didn’t miss a single brand or designer’s contribution to Paris Fashion Week. Which is to say, thanks to the Fédération’s online platform, I was able to watch every name on the haute couture and men’s calendars. This brand on-demand convenience not to mention being spared the logistical headaches of zigzagging across the city was pretty great. Also, everything was on time, from the films to the manner in which we filed our reviews. While efficiency can be satisfying, it’s not necessarily exciting. Ultimately, we had to accept that the focus this season wasn’t going to be the clothes but rather the brands conveying some combination of identity, process, and values. And in the absence of standardized criteria as in, showing a minimum number of looks, specifying a time range, it was interesting to observe how heterogeneous these experiments proved to be quasi–ad campaigns versus short films, conceptual or fantastical visions versus raw and documentary style. A proper kimono takes nearly an hour to put on – I’m sure most Japanese girls would much rather spend a few seconds and slip on a dress. Get survey responses from targeted consumers today.

Fourth image states:  Around a decade ago, not long after he started his own label, Massimo Alba made a great mistake. A batch of shirts and T-shirts he was working on that had already been garment-dyed one color were mistakenly exposed to another. Speaking at his showroom presentation this weekend, Alba said: “It’s very interesting to me that so many good things start out as mistakes like this.” That accident was to Alba what the Chicken Choice Judy shirt moreover I will buy this mold-infected petri dish was to Alexander Fleming: a stumbled-upon eureka that led to a career-defining course of the investigation. This collection featured a series of softly tailored jackets, corduroy pants, and shorts, plus light cashmere sweaters that were hand-overdyed two, and sometimes three colors. It’s a process that led to variations in tone that included acid-trip floods of purple on purple to subtle bleeding of magenta across mustard yellow. Like most of Alba’s garments, these dyed pieces appeared at first glance conventionally prosaic. The more attention you gave them, however, the more their exceptional qualities became evident. Take a pale blue jacket, for instance, which at that first glance seemed passingly related to a surgeon’s scrubs. To the hand it was light and almost textureless in its softness: The fabric was a cotton mousseline developed for Alba by Albini. Long-sleeved, in a delicately mottled finish of washed-out sky blue, it made for an ideal mid-summer shake in pink, sleeveless, it was an impactful shirting second skin. Other interesting developments this season included a cotton pant named the Myles with acutely kinking stitched gather at knee-level on both legs and another handsome pant, baggy in white poplin, with patch pockets. A blue tropical weight jacket named the Lenny, after Bernstein, was Alba’s interpretation of a bohemian creative’s ideal piece of workwear. Collarless shirts in ripstop linen and button-up short-sleeves in terry were further finely effective coups de théâtre. Alba is a self-deprecating yet dangerous designer: Try just one carefully chosen piece and that’s it, you’re spoiled for good because nobody else quite compares. The museum in Prague where this portrait is held describes the ring on her first finger as the ring given to her at her wedding. It’s not comfortable. Maybe a lot of girls think that a see-through blouse can attract the attention of boys or they think that it will make her look much smarter. Meghan has no dress sense: no knowledge of fabrics, fit, styles that flatter, proper tailoring, Her father raised her in L.A. Enough said. Her idea of dressing for an event is “dress up” like a little girl dressing up as a princess. Shiny! Tight! Celebrity “fashion” not elegant, just flashy.

/end ID]

[allsassnoclass]

Prompt: 28, 10 and Lashton

You said lashton in an art gallery.  I said Off-Screen circa 2017 (aka Luke’s Utah Era).  this might feel a little out of context, because it is. the theoretical prequel that I'm writing would explain more of the surrounding circumstance, but the most important thing to note is that Luke moved in with Ashton in Utah after the end of the SLFL tour.  This takes place in January of 2017.

lashton: “Where are all of my hoodies? Did you borrow literally every single one of my hoodies?” + art gallery

The last guest has left when Luke arrives, the gallery technically beginning to close for the night.  Ashton is tired, all of the frantic energy from the past few months building up to this evening of schmoozing and revealing the deepest parts of his soul to be judged by the art community, and he feels empty now that it has passed.  There’s a glass of some sort of fancy alcohol in his hand, but he hasn’t had the chance to drink it all night, and his suit feels like it doesn’t fit his shoulders correctly.  It’s been bothering him, but he’s been too focused on smiling genially and making nice with every single person who passed through the doors to look at his art to do anything about it.

The sound of the main doors opening is loud in the quiet of the space, and Ashton tenses where he’s talking to the owner of the gallery.  He relaxes once he sees that it’s not another art snob or a random person who got lost, but Luke.  He stands at the threshold awkwardly, fiddling with the hem of one of Ashton’s college hoodies, beanie stuffed unceremoniously over his hair.  It’s getting longer, and he’s been letting it curl more instead of spending hours styling it and trying to get it to sit right.

He looks just as breathtaking as ever, and Ashton is almost overwhelmed with how lucky he feels to be one of the only people to see famous rockstar Luke Hemmings with his guard completely down.

“Luke,” he sighs, relief too obvious.  Luke just smiles and wanders, stopping short when something in a painting catches his eye.

“Friend of yours?” the gallery owner asks, and Ashton turns his attention back to her.  It’s too easy to forget that anyone else exists the moment Luke enters a room.  Ashton needs to get a grip.

“Yeah, that’s my housemate.  Do you mind if we look around for a bit?  He couldn’t make the normal gallery times.”

He logistically could have, because Luke doesn’t have responsibilities here in Utah, but Ashton knows that the idea of him having to look nice, be in a crowd of people, and possibly be recognized almost sent him into a panic attack.

“Sure.  I’m locking up by 10, though, so be out before then.”

Ashton thanks her profusely, and the look she gives him is a bit too knowing for his taste.  Still, she heads towards the back with an artistic grace, and Ashton joins Luke where he’s staring at one of Ashton’s paintings.

“Hi,” he says quietly.  Luke leans into him in a practiced move, shoulders brushing together.  Luke has always been familiar and comfortable, despite how little they see each other.

Ashton knows he should feel bad that Luke felt so lost in LA that he had to come all the way to Utah and Ashton to try and find himself, but selfishly he’s glad.  For a few months, he gets Luke to himself, curled up on his couch and eating at his kitchen island instead of off traveling the world and meeting adoring fans.  Besides, having Luke here helps.  Ashton can’t take care of another person if he’s drunk every night, and meals are easier to prepare when there are two people to eat them.  It’s easier to fall asleep if someone else is breathing slowly next to him.  It’s easier to keep the loneliness at bay with Luke stepping into the gaps in his life.

“Was it a good showing?” Luke asks.

“It was,” he replies, resisting the urge to do something inappropriate like pull Luke closer and tuck his face into his neck just to breathe him in.  “I even sold a few paintings.”

“You did?” Luke lights up.  “Ashton, that’s amazing!  Which ones?  Wait, I want to see them all anyway.  Walk me through them as we go.”

Ashton does, trying his best to remember the thought process and inspiration behind each of the paintings hanging in the gallery.  For the earlier works it’s easier, because objects inside are more defined and they have clearer stories.  For recent creations featuring bold strokes and swirls of color and more ambiguous shapes, the inspirations shift towards ideas.  Some of them he created while drunk, and he has to check the title cards to figure out what he was going for, because while drunk Ashton isn’t good for much, he at least always writes titles in his notes app when he paints.

His professors made him include some of those works, saying that a few are profound and mesmerizing and probably your best work.  It makes Ashton feel like he can’t create anything if he doesn’t have a few drinks in him.  It’s a mindset he’s trying to move away from, but it’s hard.  At least he has endless inspiration with Luke in the house.

Luke looks at a piece entitled Longing for a few minutes, and Ashton prays that he doesn’t ask who or what he was longing for while painting it.

“Come on,” he says when the swirl of blues and purples (with just that shimmer of gold to represent the person of desire, possibly forming a hazy constellation of Luke to anyone who knows what to look for) becomes too much.  “I want to show you the synesthesia section.”

“Section” is a generous term, because it’s actually just four paintings on the same wall.  He has many more paintings for various songs and albums back home, most of them on smaller canvases he can get from the craft store, but there are a few songs that evoke such strong, beautiful visuals that he had to paint them properly.

The first painting has a primarily blue background, mixing with black in short strokes by the edges.  Traveling diagonally across the canvas are an assortment of other colors, mostly yellows and reds until they meet strokes of white in the middle.  The paint is thick, creating textured mountains where the colors meet, and that’s Ashton’s favorite part about painting, really.  He’s not very good at 3D forms, but paint never lays completely flat.  He likes how dynamic it is because of it.

“Gravity,” Luke croons as he looks, “is working against me.”

Ashton loves hearing him sing.  He was worried for those first few weeks Luke came to him, because he rarely heard it, but now he can count on random melodies filling the house at all hours.

“John Mayer makes nice songs to look at,” he says.  Luke smiles at him, then they move on to the next one.

This painting has a bit more variety in color.  Ashton remembers mixing them on his pallet, unbothered by the streaks it caused in the brush strokes, knowing that it was necessary to capture what the song makes him see.  A dark background gives way to a curve of reds, purples, pinks, blues, ending in some greens and yellows and a hint of orange.  He splattered white and black on afterwards, just a little bit near the middle of the curve, and Luke leans forward to see all the small dots.

“This one really does look like ‘Karma Police,’” Luke says.  “Even I can see it.”  He straightens and gives Ashton another grin, and he knows that he can’t capture that smile in a painting (he’s tried, so many times), but he still wants to attempt it again.

“I can’t believe how talented you are,” Luke says.  “It’s almost unfair.”

“Thanks,” he says, ducking his head.  Luke nudges him with his elbow and moves on to the next painting.  This one follows a similar pattern to the other two, a dark background with color in the middle, but it’s messier.  Blue and purple feature the most, but there are hints of orange and yellow, and white overtakes the painting in peaked chunks and thin streaks.

“You’d think that for a Prince song, there’d be a bit more purple,” Luke says, tilting his head.

“Maybe he should have written more purple songs, then,” Ashton shrugs.  “‘Joy in Repetition’ has more blue.”

“Wait, is “Purple Rain�� even purple?” Luke asks, alarmed.

“Yes, that one fits the title.”  Luke looks reassured at that, and they continue to the last painting.  Ashton feels nerves clench in his stomach.

He didn’t submit any of his photographs or colored pencil sketches of Luke, not even the really good one of Luke sleeping in his bed with an arm over his face that Ashton drew one night when the insomnia was hitting him hard, but this painting could be just as damning.  It’s different from the other three because it’s slightly bigger and oriented differently, vertical instead of horizontal.  The background is also based in white instead of black, primarily creating a pale blue to match the cautious optimism of the song.  More blue meets with seafoam green, peach, and white in the middle, dripping down the canvas until all the colors fade into just the green.  The lines of this one are smoother, blended together evenly, but there are bursts of gold in the middle and near a few edges that he bought a specific brand of metallic paint for.  Ashton watches as Luke’s eyes trace the painting before he turns to the name card.

“Luke?” he asks when a few moments have gone by with him completely frozen.

“Really?” Luke asks, voice cracking.  “This is what you see?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says.  He knew he was going to end up painting the song as soon as he first heard Luke’s voice singing about tasting the ocean.  “It’s mostly “Outer Space,” but I incorporated some of what I saw for “Carry On” at the bottom.”

“Oh,” Luke says, then turns and tucks himself into a hug, squeezing Ashton tight enough that he feels short of breath.  Ashton wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and letting Luke cuddle into him in a way that he’s almost getting too big for.

“I take it you like it?” he asks, just to be sure.  Luke nods, and when he does finally pull away he swipes at his eyes with the sleeve of Ashton’s sweatshirt.

“Can I buy it?” he asks.

“Luke, you can have it for free.”  Luke shakes his head vigorously.

“No, you’ve already given me too much.  I want to buy it from you.  You should be paid for your art.”

“Okay,” Ashton says quietly.  Luke’s eyes are still fixed on the painting, and Ashton comes back to slide a hand around his waist again.  “We can negotiate a price later.”  He presses a kiss to Luke’s temple, because that’s something he can get away with still.

“Don’t try to give me a discount.  I’ve already stolen your food and half your clothes.”

“Speaking of,” Ashon says, “I’m absolutely positive that this hoodie was the last one in my closet.  Where are all my hoodies?  Did you borrow literally every single one of my hoodies?”

“Yeah,” Luke says sheepishly.  “They’re comfortable.  They smell like you.”

Luke is going to kill him like this.  Ashton can’t even be upset, because what a way to go, but things like that are not helping him keep a lid on how absolutely head-over-heels he is.

“I’d be more upset if you didn’t look so good in them,” Ashton says before he can stop himself.  Luke’s breathing stutters, but he doesn’t do anything besides lean a little closer.  Ashton’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.

“Come on,” Luke says.  “I still want to see the rest of your pieces, then we can go home.”

Home, Ashton repeats to himself.  Luke thinks of your house as his home.

They wander their way through the last few canvases, then stop briefly in the photograph and colored pencil room before stepping out onto the street.  Their hands brush as they walk, and Ashton wonders if he can get away with grabbing Luke’s.  This night feels significant in so many ways.  Something has shifted, and he’s not sure if it has to do with his art career or the man beside him.  He wants it to be both so badly he aches with it.

When they have two more blocks to go before reaching the house, Luke reaches over and threads their fingers together.

A/N: I don’t have synesthesia, but the first three song paintings really exist and can be found here. the one for os/co was made up by me.

[jokerfan99]

Curiousity (Almost) Killed The Cat (RWBY/RVB) by Necroceph

*RVB Opening Theme*

Flying above a barren desert.

Fuel's at 9%. It's not enough to keep this thing flying in space in another few hours. Luckily for Xenotarian Four, she spot this M-class planet on the way with man-made structures with functioning electricity says the scanners. She should reach a base in another few clicks. The residents there should provide her the fuel needed to reach Menagerie Prime. There have always been risks of xenotarian aid but who would've thought that flying a longsword in low fuel would be one of them. Through the windshields, she spots structures in the distance and begins to slow the ship down for landing. She attempts to contact the base's denizens to have their permission to land and refuel.

???: This is Xenotarian Four, calling to whoever's in charge of the base. I wish to have permission to dock my ship there for refueling. I would appreciate the help, over.

No reply, yet they did not give any warning to her. There is an empty landing pad where the ship can land on. The thrusters switched to vertical mode and carefully lands on top of the pad smoothly without problems. Time to fuel up this baby. She couldn't wait to get back home to her kids. They're probably waiting for her at her parent's doorstep ready to pounce at her with one big hug. Before she left, her father was against the idea of her taking this assignment because she's the mother of two litters and can't just leave them orphaned if anything bad ever happens to her. But who's better at delivering xenotarian aid beyond the border without being spotted by the Jiralhanae fighters? That's her. Unless she finds somebody with better skills to take her place. She exits the ship and awaits for the fueling crew, but no one seem to came. And that's not the only thing that surprises her, she looks around and doesn't see a single soul at sight. Don't tell me I landed in an abandoned facility, she thought. If this place is abandoned, then why are there still lights functioning here?

XF: Hello!

Beside the howling desert wind, no one called back. Guess she has no choice but to walk around and find somebody. This place appears to be a military base and human in design. She's not sure whether it belongs to the UNSC or Insurgents due to the lack of any known military insignia at sight. There is one she spots on a wall along the way but not one she's familiar with. It is a black trifoil logo. There's no title or anything written around it, could be just a random graffiti or maybe not.  As she examines it, a smell that's described to be rotten fish, stung her senses. Good God, what is that awful smell? It stinks of high heaven! It's coming from that nearby archway leading to an opened field. She crosses through the archway, with nose pinched, to investigate the source but what she found is something she'll regret seeing.

XF: Oh... my... God.

Her curious expression turned to shock for right in front of her are the bodies of soldiers lying on the dirt. Their armor is riddled with bullet holes with blood seeping out through them. Some have been burned to black charred husks and others still clinging onto their exposed rotten guts. Not a single movement can be seen from any of them. It looks like a huge battle took place, no, a massacre. They didn't seem to have a chance at fighting back. She has never seen soldiers like them before but they do have the same logo on their armors she has seen earlier. They could be part of some paramilitary group, but that's just a theory. She tuned in her cochlear implants, adjusting to the right frequency to hear any heartbeats from any of the soldiers just to be sure if there's any alive. Not a single pumping of blood can be heard from any of them. From the concentration of the pungency they emit, they must've been dead for over three or four days. Good thing if it'd not for her experience in the field, she wouldn't be able to hold out her lunch much longer. What happened to these poor souls or more importantly, what happened here?

TING TING TING

A repeating sound can be heard from nearby. It's coming from one of the buildings, with the blown up radio tower on the roof. She stealthily walks into the building and observe the contents inside. Inside contains a variety of computer terminals, most have been destroyed by gunfire, except for one with a blinking red button on the console. It's as if it's calling out to her to activate it. She approached the terminal and presses the blinking button. The machine activates followed by a Macintosh boot up before a voice synthesizer spoke out through the speakers.

???: Hello. I am the Freelancer Integrated Logistics and Security System, abbreviated F.I.L.S.S. You may call me, Gary. XF: Did you just talk? Gary: Of course I did. What were you expecting, a blue naked babe? XF: Not at all. What is this place? Gary: This is a top secret ONI training facility to train new Spartan soldiers through experimental augmentation and cybernetics. I am the computer system responsible for maintaining this facility to excellent capacity and assist all staff member to easily perform their duties, and daily military reports. I have no record of you in the data banks. Please identify yourself, for you have five seconds to live. XF: Pvt. Blake Belladonna from the White Paw Xenotarian Aid. I'm here because I stopped by to fuel up my ship. Gary: I see. Then why are you in the communications room? Blake: Well nobody came to help so I walked around to try find someone. Gary: And have you encountered the staff? Blake: No. The ones I found are lying dead outside. Gary: Dead? Explains? Blake: The ones lying outside this building. Don't you know about it? Gary: No. I have been offline for... what day is it today? Blake: Tuesday. Gary: Nine days ago. Please let me check the security cameras... oh. They really are dead. What a pity. But at least Jameson Locke's dead too, so that's good news. It would seem that I have missed out what had transpired here. Blake: That's like a week ago. Computer- Gary: Gary. Blake: Sorry... Gary. What happened here exactly? Gary: I do not know, I only remember the events before my deactivation. Blake: Well we just have to go with that first. Starting off, who attacked this base? Was it the Jiralhanae, Insurgents? Gary: No. And if it was those damn dirty apes, I would've detected their ships' signature in orbit before they attack. From what I examined from outside, it is likely that the soldiers killed one another. Blake: They killed each other?! Why? Gary: Did you see any bodies from any opposing forces you mentioned? Blake: Now that you mention that, no. They're all wearing the same uniform and color. Gary: That is correct. No doubt it's connected to the strange events that happened before my deactivation. Blake: Strange events? Gary: Yes. This can be easily explained in the form of a knock knock joke. Knock knock. Blake: Who's there? Gary: You are a dirty dirty Shisno. Ha Ha Ha. Blake: Please I'm not here for jokes, this is serious. What's a Shisno? Gary: Don't ask. It all happened with a blackout three days prior to my deactivation. Every electronic equipment was shut down when one of the base's generators overheated beyond recommended levels. The engineers have no idea what caused it to heat up like that but have concluded there was a computer glitch within the system, so there was nothing to worry about. However, strange things begin to happen the day after. There have been numbers of violent cases reported throughout the facility. A private tried to strangle his drill sergeant with the UNSC flag and an hour after that, the same drill sergeant stabbed the mess hall's chef through the eye with a plastic fork. Blake: Please no jokes. Gary: I'm not. See it for yourself.

Gary opens up a window in the terminal. The video shows the footage of a soldier, probably the drill sergeant Gary mentioned, standing on a table, trying to scare away the other soldiers with... a plastic fork?! And EW, is that an eyeball at the end?!

???: Sir, please put the fork down. We don't want to hurt you. ???: BACK YOU WORTHLESS UNGGOYS! Come any closer and I will use this fork to eat your intestines like spaghetti, with a pinch zucchini and mozarella! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! ???: NOW!

The soldiers quickly grabbed him. He tried to fight back but the plastic fork broke in the process.

???: GAAAAH! GET OFF ME YOU FOOLS! I WILL DESTROY YOU ALL!!!

End of video.

Blake: Okaaaaay? Gary: There's more if you like. Blake: No thank you. Continue. Gary:  In the third day, the staff have been ordered to remove the radios from their helmets and destroy, deactivate or dismantle every military asset within the facility. Landlines, cellphones, vehicles, radio towers and finally me. That is all I remember. Blake: Thank you for telling me this. Sigh, guess I got more work to do after all. First I'll need to get back to the longsword and report Command about this. Gary: Uh oh. Blake: Something wrong? Gary: You might want to have your gun ready. Blake: I didn't bring a...

Suddenly, her implants detected heavy breathing six meters behind her. She turns around and sees a soldier, magnum in hand, looking at her through his broken visor with raging eyes. A survivor! Except it doesn't look like he wants any help. From the way his eyes are looking at her with hate, something bad's about to happen in this room.

Blake: Are you okay? ???: Who are you?... Are you from Recovery... or maybe a Freelancer agent? Blake: (whispers) Gary, what is he talking about? Gary: He's talking about a rescue team. Blake: Well he's got one. Hello, sir. I'm from the White Paw Xenotarian Aid. I've come here to help if you can just put that gun down.

Blake slowly approaches the unstable man and attempts to take the gun from his hand.

???: STAY BACK!!!

But was too late once the soldier aims it at Blake.

???: DON'T YOU LIE TO ME! OH NONONONONONONONO, NOT THIS TIME YOU'RE NOT! I'M NOT GETTING BACKSTABBED AGAIN. YOU'RE JUST LIKE AAAAALLLLLL THE OTHERS! 'HELP ME WITH THIS, HELP ME WITH THAT' UNTIL THEY SHOOT YOU BEHIND THE HEAD! PARANOIC BASTARDS, THEY DESERVED IT!!! Unless... he's inside you... Blake: Inside me? What are you talking about?

BANG!

The soldier fires but the bullet misses her, passing through her ebony hair.

???: YOU THINK I'M THAT STUPID, OMEGA?! I KNOW YOU'LL GET THE CHANCE OF SURPRISING ME WITH THAT INNOCENT ACT OF YOURS AND DON'T YOU DARE ABOUT TRYING TO OUTSMART ME, YOU GODLESS AI! Blake: Sir, wait! Put the gun down, I'm not here to- ??? DIE YOU SON OF A-

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

The soldier frantically fires at Blake again. She manages to jump behind a nearby pillar, giving her cover from the little pellets of death. He's not going to stop until he kills her! She'll have to wait until he runs out and try to knock him out. However, there's a high chance he'll anticipated her move and strike her. She'll need a distraction, something to keep him off his guard enough for her to strike.

Blake: Gary, do something! Gary: What? Blake Talk to him, I have a plan! Gary: Ahem. Hello. I am the Freelancer...

BANG BANG

Two 12.7×40mm armour piercing bullets pierce through the terminal, one making a large cracked hole on the screen and the other on the console.

Gary: Ow. ???: WORKING WITH, OMEGA EH GAMMA? TOO BAD, YOU'LL DIE WITH HIM TOO!!! Huh?

Now the opportunity's open. She gets out off cover and dashes toward the soldier. He quickly notices her but was too late to fire another shot when Blake swings her fist and punches him to the broken face plate, giving him a nasty bloody nose before falling unconscious to the ground. She quickly takes the magnum from his hand to prevent any further use from him. With the crazed soldier taken cared off, Blake turns to, Gary who has been badly shot. The terminal's screen is beginning to glitch out violently and the buttons on the console are popping up sparks like popcorns in a microwave.

Blake: Gary, are you okay? Gary: No-no-no-no. Hu-hu-hu-hu-hurry please remove the-the-the-the-the-the data chip from the sto-sto-sto-storage bank beneath the co-co-console.

Blake rushes to the bottom of the console. She spots a panel and removes it to find the data chip. It wasn't so hard for her to spot it as there's a yellow arrow with a writing which reads: 'Data crystal chip. DO NOT YANK IT!!!' pointing at a chip in a slot and yanks it, despite the warning. She was relieve to get him out before the console catches on fire. To check whether Gary is still intact, she inserts the chip into her armor to see if it's functioning well without problems. Good thing whoever designed the MJOLNIR added an AI slot. Not long after the insertion, a blue ghostly projection flickers in front of her, taking the form of a blue humanoid in standard UNSC uniform. This is something Blake has never seen before.

Blake: Okay this is new. Gary: System diagnostics at 100%. Ah... much better. Blake: You okay? Gary: I am working in perfect condition, thanks to you. I owed you your life twice. Blake: Hey, I'm a xenotarian aid member after all. AIs also qualifies as a life. Anyways.

She turns to the unconscious soldier.

???: Hi, I'm Utah... like the state of Utah... uuhhh. Gary: We should leave before that maniac wakes up.

Gary's got a good point. The man's too mentally unstable to be brought back with them.

Blake: Maniac, yes. But we can't just leave him here. Gary: He manage to survive this long alone, I think he'll be alright by himself. Blake: Gary, this man has gone through a lot over the last six days. He deserves to be in a medical care. We'll bring him along once we find someone who can help him. Gary: I don't like this.

Three minutes later

It's a good thing she found this cart to carry the unconscious wacko, no way she can carry him with her fragile frame. She even tied him up in wires for his own good too. On the way to the longsword, Blake discuss a thing or two with Gary about the base.

Blake: I wonder why ONI needed to develop more Spartans. I thought the UNSC already can handle itself without them ever since the Sangeili traded us Covenant weaponry. Gary: ONI is still paranoid for another interstellar war in the future, so they decided to make more Spartans in case flying spaghetti monsters start attacking the galaxy. Blake: And what does this have to do with that 'omega' this soldier said? Gary: I'm not sure. I have no record of any 'omega' in the files. Maybe he was speaking gibberish. Blake: Well it had something to do with the event you explained. Maybe a secret military weapon, ONI developed. From what I heard , ONI will go beyond ethical restraints to get what they want. Ship's just around that corner, we should... you have got to be joking.

It's no joke. The whole longsword's on FIRE! This is no doubt the work of their friend here.

Gary: Now what? Blake: I don't know. That ship's our only way out off here and without the radio, we can't call for help! Gary: No need to panic. There is another nearby base we can look for assistance, it might still be vacant. Blake: Well that's a relief! And how long will it take us to reach there? Gary: By foot, seven days. Blake: Seven days? Gary: Unless you like walking. ???: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Uh oh, his conscious again. The soldier starts writhing in the trolley as he tries to wiggle himself out off these wires.

???: YOU'LL NEVER LEAVE HERE, OMEGA!!! NEVER! NEVEEEEEERR!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!! Gary: Will you just shut up, you dirty Shisno? Blake: Gary, are there still any functioning vehicles we can use? Gary: The staff have disabled all of them to prevent any use. Blake: Well they're still our only ticket out of here. I know a thing or two about repairing a Mongoose. So if I can fix one, we can finally get out of here. ???: YOU WILL NOT! Blake: Shh! Gary: Since you're confident about that, it's worth a try. There's one Mongoose over there.

Gary points his holographic finger to a nearby Mongoose. Blake looks into the engine. There's some disconnected parts, so it isn't a hard fix but the problem is that the handle bars have been removed. She can't drive this thing without steering. She'll need to find a new handlebar. However Gary has a plan.

Gary: Hold on for a sec. Blake: What?

Gary went silent all the sudden. Suddenly, the engines of the Mongoose sprang to life on it's own, almost made Blake jumped from where she stood.

Gary: 76% of the Mongoose is in working condition and fuel is now 79.3% capacity. Blake: Oh my God, how did you do that? Gary: I am also programmed to take control of vehicles in case of emergencies. Blake: Heh, guess I won't have to drive after all. Not bad for an Artificial Intelligence. Gary: Thank you. Alright I have scanned what you need to fix, first get a toolbox... ???: NOOOOOO!!! YOU CANNOT LEAVE! Gary: And second, shut him up.

Blake presses the helmet's mute button finally shutting him up.

Gary: Ahh... finally. Blake: So this base you mentioned, what's it called? Gary: Blood Gulch.

Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/necroceph

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 3

The Best Intentions

Part 3

“It is no imposition, believe me,” Ansgar replied. “As much as I despise the fact that your building is suffering problems, I do enjoy solving them now and again.” He surreptitiously allowed his gaze to follow the path of her hands as they straightened out the denim of her skirt. He saw a strength in her movements, a power in the way her muscles shaped beneath the fabric - a power matched by her forthrightness. Not overwhelming, mind you… not false… not pretentious… just… present. This one - she knew what she wanted and how to get it, that much was obvious.

And admirable.

“Perhaps,” he continued, “you would like to change into something more suitable for structural investigations before we begin.” With his eyes, he indicated the Louboutin pumps, still lying discarded on the stage floor. “Why don’t I go take a look at the sprinkler heads installed backstage, and you tell me where to meet you when you’re done.”

Jo’s comfort came in the form of a pair of old broken in trainers (stained with paint from the tech shop), faded, ripped jeans (exposed knees from load-in from her last theatre job in Paris) and a ratty, old, black short-sleeved t-shirt (sprinkled with holes). She kept a wardrobe on hand in her office for days like this. Box office days, she dressed smartly, prim, proper for all the old biddies spending their pension on Puccini. Tech days, she wore black from head to toe. On opening and gala nights, she felt at home in a little black dress or a gown. Dressing for an office meeting felt like work.

The computer and its dancing screensaver called to her in the corner to research the lighting issue. The ramifications meant long hours of interviewing new candidates for her design or technical team. But that would have to wait… the rest of the repairs needed another pair of eyes, the haunted blue of the engineer. Something weighed on him, a brooding quiet, a dark hurt, a something that she couldn’t quite read yet.

She breathed a sigh of relief as the oh-so-soft denim whispered against her skin. She blew a kiss at her borrowed Louboutins, promising another night in them… soon-ish. She returned to find Ansgar wandering around backstage, making notes on a clipboard, knocking on walls with his fist, shining his torch this way and that, and testing the pulley system for the flies.

“Thank you,” Jo said announcing her presence, “I… this works.” She threw her arms out beside her palms out, displaying a tattoo on her left forearm. “Much more me for days like this.”

“Where do you need me?” he tucked his notes under his arm. His gaze followed her arm and the flash of color he saw.

“Ah, under the stage.” She pointed below her feet. “The sprinklers may have caused water damage? The hydraulics for the turn table works only when it wants.”

“Temperamental,” he commented with a chuckled grunt. He took control, leading them off stage right to the staircase for the other area. “Have you used the pyrotechnics down there?”

Jo followed closely at his elbow, anticipating questions about the integrity of the areas she showed him. “Not since… not last season.”

“Any of the directors turn in specs for it for the upcoming?”

She shook her head though he didn’t look at her. “Not yet. The designers haven’t either. We still need to find a team for The Flying Dutchman.”

Jo asked Ansgar to look over the box seats and the arrangement of it. The dip of the seats had started scaring some of the older audience members, fearing they’d fall into the orchestra below. The wall between dressing rooms seven and eight had begun to warp. The floor in the rehearsals spaces needed patching and sanding. She toured through with a careful ear listening to his tips and concerns, and possible hidden agendas amongst her crew.

When they were through the laundry list of items, Jo found some relief. She stood at the top of the orchestra, hands gripping the back of a red velvet seat. “I love my work, Herr Martinsson. I haven’t an ounce of talent of my own, but I love this place. I’d love to see it sparkle again. And so would Harold.”

Ansgar stared, his focus narrowing on her. “I’m sorry. Harold?”

“The opera ghost,” she teased. “He’s been with us the entire time.”

He humored her and offered her a good natured laugh, stepping in to stand beside her, looking over the sea of red. He placed his hands on the seat beside her. “Well, Joline… and Harold… I think I can help.”

She looked down and quieted the tiniest of swells of disappointment in her belly when she saw a wedding ring on Ansgar’s left hand. Attractive men were always married; she should know, she’d married one. “We both appreciate it. Harold and me.” She pushed a smile to her lips and brushed his shoulder with hers.

“Well,” he said, “we’ve a duty to our ghosts; to make sure they’re happy with the things they’ve left behind, don’t we?” Ansgar’s speech slowed as he spoke, the impact of his own statement not lost upon him.

His thumb, in an autonomic motion, tucked into his palm, the tip of it rubbing against the underside of the golden band that remained around his finger.

“I’m sure Harold will be supremely happy,” the woman by his side quipped. Ansgar’s lips quirked into a small smile, partly at her praise, partly at the fact that she had missed his passing discomfiture altogether. Or so he’d hoped.

In further hope of distraction, he raised his clipboard, running his finger down the list he’d made. “Well, Froken Lindberg,” he said, “if that is all of the issues, then, I think I ought to get back to the office and get this to my project manager. Get her on contacting the subs and suppliers immediately, get warranty claims made and bond claims if need be.”

“You mean Froken Wiessing?”

“No,” Ansgar shook his head. “But I think… well, Julia and I will have some other things to discuss.”

“Anything I need to worry about?”

Ansgar looked down at her and smiled. “Not anymore. Listen,” he said, “I apologise for all of this happening, I apologise for my company being so unresponsive, it’s… it’s not like us… not like me at all. Quite the opposite.”

“I know,” she shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s all being sorted now, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” he affirmed. “Are you sure?”

“Well,” she grinned up at him. “There is one more thing you can do.”

“Name it,” he challenged.

“Take me to lunch. I’m starving.”

Ansgar laughed. It felt good to laugh again… very good. Truly, honestly good. “Of course,” he bowed his head, smiling. “You name the place. It’s the least I can do.”

Jo discovered Carousel her first week as House Manager. The Mediterranean outdoor café suited her low-key wardrobe and Ansgar’s higher end threads. The grilled rib-eye tasted of heaven on a plate but Jo loved making a meal of the appetizers instead of gorging herself on mains. As she angled into the wooden bench, she wiggled-slid behind the oblong table, “The gazpacho and watermelon should be a sin.”

Ansgar folded himself into the chair at the head of the table, to her left. Grinning at her, he took in the colorful and lively atmosphere. It all seemed so… normal. So ordinary. Comforting normality of his home.

Her voice dropped to a sensual moan. “The sweet and the savory…” She rolled her eyes skyward. The grumble in her stomach wasn’t just hunger but curiosity about her lunch companion and this need to prove herself worthy as House Manager. After months of chasing attention at Martinsson Construction, she now felt consumed by this mad drive to show him that the house and how it ran remained safe in her hands.

“I brought the mockup of our final mailing and advert campaign… the last push to get asses in the seats for the new season.” Ticket sales and revenue secured her position. As it was her first full season as manager, it was final examinations on her worth. “We open in September with The Marriage of Figaro.”

His finger traced along the glossy production photographs of women in wide elaborate frocks and taller wigs. The text read clean and concise, listing titles of the upcoming operas, dates, the box office website, and other means to purchase tickets or sponsor levels. “Impressive,” he nodded.

“Did you get your invitation to the opening night gala? My staff sent them round to all the executives at your company.”

“Uh… no… no. I’ve been away,” he repeated his mantra from earlier. “I’ve not caught up on correspondences. I assume that Britta has added it to my calendar.”

Jo wrinkled her nose, “This is boring to you.”

“Not at all. Your… passion is admirable actually.”

Her wide blue eyes met his and kicked herself for flirting with him. She shouldn’t encourage this. She couldn’t.

But it was one lunch. One lunch couldn’t hurt.

It’s only lunch, Ansgar thought.

But it was true what he’d said, he admired her passion. it seemed to permate every inch of her, seep from her pores. Passion - well, it was extremely attractive. Her passion for her job, her passion for her art - for it was her art, he knew. Even if she wasn’t the Prima Donna, or a visual artist or a composer or even if she wasn’t a musician or a set designer or a lighting designer, it was still her art.

Like his work with steel and glass in structural engineering, he knew her expression of her self came with the craft of engineering logistics.

“Tell me,” he said, stabbing up a forkful of spinach salad, “what’s your talent utilisation style?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him over the rim of her water glass. “My what?”

Ansgar swallowed and nodded. “I mean… your management style. How do you… how do you manage to keep all those….”

“Artistic types in line?” She chuckled. “Sometimes it’s like herding cats… cats who have been rolling in catnip and have eaten an entire bag of Smarties. You just have to know how to use the right toys to fiddle them out and get them to pay nicely together.”

“Oh.” Ansgar laughed. “Sounds a bit like my situation, except sometimes my cats have been chewing on the Valium tablets or tippling at the brandy. Most sluggish, and they simply do not want to come out of their hidey holes.”

She inhaled through her nose. “So I’ve noticed.” She flashed him a closed-mouthed grin followed by a slight cringe at the brazenness of her words.

Which again made Ansgar laugh. “Touche,” he tossed. “Okay, change of subject,” he smirked. “This Gala of yours, this opening night do you’re organising.”

She shrugged. “What of it?”

“Well, I suppose I’d like to know when it is.”

“Why, do you want to go?” Her sudden burst of eagnerness made her grimace. “I mean,” she composed herself. “Do you plan to attend?”

Here goes nothing, Ansgar thought.

“I believe I do,” he said, plainly. “That is, if you will allow me to accompany you for that evening. It’s the very least I can do.”

Jo pushed her spoon through what was left of her gazpacho, watching the bits swirling round the bottom of the bowl. She smirked, her head bounced slightly on the sound of humor. “When I stormed your castle this morning…” She chanced her gaze back up, “I… well, uh… I didn’t think…” she spread her hands wide and circled around the half eaten dishes they’d consumed, “this would happen.”

Ansgar laughed with her, matching her mirth. The exaggerated and animated gesture unexpected but none the less amusing. He dipped his head in an almost bow. “Admittedly, this wasn’t my agenda for the day.”

She pointed upwards and nodded, dropping the last of her pride, and then shrugged, “It was the least I could do.”

The imitation of him was spot on and he gave into a good-natured chuckle at his own expense. He’d extended that precise statement to her more than once, to assuage his guilt, to be the attentive and present CEO that he should’ve been, to be the man he believed himself to be. “Fair play, fair play.”

As their laughter faded, Jo addressed the elephant that sat between them, pink and plump and ripe for a tickle. She chose her words carefully, mincing them so as not to wound or offend. “I don’t want your obligation.”

Then she waited, stealing another glance at the ring on his left hand, curled around a pint.

Don’t entertain it, Jo. Not for a breath, not for an afternoon, not for a thought or some scorching hot sexual fantasy. Your mother had a sense of humor, naming you after Dolly Parton’s other woman, but don’t be that woman, Jo.

You’re not that woman.

Clearing her throat, she covered her pause and stray thought. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I do actually want your obligation.”

This was met with a furrow of his brow and his fingers brushed the sexier than sin stubble at his chin.

“My professional self would feel satisfied… I’d get off—I’d celebrate it!”

Pull it together… Jesus, Jo!

“As CEO of the company that built my building,” she carefully spoke without a trace of arrogance, “I absolutely want your obligation. But me? Jo, me?” To illustrate her point, she splayed her hand over her heart, inadvertently accentuating her breasts. “She… she doesn’t want your obligation.”

Ansgar lowered his pint from his lips, his movement slow and controlled. He seemed to consider her words as if each one were a bead of condensation that hung on the glass. “I think you’ve misunderstood me…” That was the moment he struggled with a way to address her.

“I understand it. Your company and your name are in jeopardy, but I’m not looking for that kind of publicity. I won’t say anything to the press. As long as the work in the theatre is fixed by opening,” she waved her finger between them, “we’re sorted. Hell, make it a restoration special, to the press if you want… your good deed for the community, for Stockholm. We’re square.”

Ansgar couldn’t help but smile at her take on his invitation. A diplomatic and thoughtful, perhaps even pragmatic solution to the complication that brought this woman trampling down the door to his office. If he read her correctly, he’s piqued her interest, if the lack of drink thrown in his face were a sign. She remained his lunch companion, another indication that he hadn’t piqued her anger. He couldn’t use work obligations to spend an evening with her.

Using a different tactic, he began, as his grin intensified, “Well, as long as we’re square—“

Before he could say anymore, she cut him off, “Hey! I got an obligatory lunch for my efforts.” She grinned over a piece of seasoned bread she shoved into her mouth. “That was the least you could do. My gala,” she shook her head, her speech muffled by bread, “would go above ‘the least.’”

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer II: Project - Leviathan

I’d used my father’s Nibelungen gate to steal away with Johann for Hanami in Chizuru in the middle of the night, and felt much better for it. Johann had gone to Chizuru and sent me a picture as I instructed. I visualized the place in my head and stepped through the gate to be with him, wearing the blue and white kimono gifted to me by Caesar over a year ago. Chizuru was twelve hours ahead of Paris, it was the middle of the night. It was a lovely two hours in the sun and the glory of the flowers. Anjou was none the wiser.

Returning to my hotel room in the dark made it seem even more like a dream. My fingers ran across my lips. They still burned where Johann had kissed me. My body still reacted to the memory.

Master List

The room was huge and alien and it made it hard to get any sleep. I tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed. My thoughts turned back to my Chicago home, not to Cassell. That burned too, taking my whole foster family with it. It was the last place I’d truly felt at home. Ever since I left there, I’d never slept in so many different beds in my entire life. 

Back in January, Johann told me that after graduation he would find a place for us. I had thought it was just him being dramatic. He’d been upset and tired at the time he said it. But now as I lay in the dark, in strange surroundings yet again, I realized he might have been completely serious, that he picked up on the fact that we’d both been uprooted, and looking for a place to settle.

The sun came up and I was still tired. Dressed in a plush robe provided by the hotel, I spoke with Johann over video call. He was in an airport, preparing to return to Chicago.

“Do you know who you’ll be working with?” He asked.

“An Agent Robertson…” I yawned. “Sorry, still a little jetlagged.”

To this day, I was captivated by the strands of dark hair framing the golden eyes that peered over his dark glasses, his cool so-called expressionless face. It wasn’t expressionless to me any more. The subtle flicker of his eye lids, the inflection of his voice, the tilt of his head said far more than his words did. To me, they spoke to his quick wit and profound intelligence, the ability to sort and catalogue his thoughts to say and express exactly what he wanted to in a single precise motion.

“I know him. You’re in good hands.” Johann nodded his stoic approval. “He’s been with the Executive department for about fifteen years. His skill is called Desolation and will turn anyone who stands in front of him to solid rock to a distance of 50 feet. It’s an A-rank devastating talent I’ve only seen him use once. He’s also very conscientious and hardworking. He’ll keep the other agents in line.”

I rubbed my eyes and blinked. “Anjou said something about being concerned about the agents here.”

“There was a scandal about three years back. Robertson was assigned from New York to get a handle on things. But some of the people who were responsible for it still work there. I’d be cautious around the French Agents if I were you.”

“Noted.” I rested my chin in my hands. “Are you doing alright?”

His eyelids lowered and my heart skipped a beat at the ghost of a smile. My persistent worry for him never failed to provoke a reaction. “Don’t worry about me. I want you to have a good time in Paris.” The amusement left his face. “I mean it. You’re going to Fashion Week starting today. I want you to get lots of cute outfits and take pictures for me. Eat pastries at La Pâtisserie du Meurice par Cédric Grolet. Take pictures of those too. The pastries they make are very cute.” He ticked these things off as if they were a list of objectives on a mission. But that’s not what drew my attention.

What made me sit up a little straighter was his flawless pronunciation of the name of the bakery. “Johann… do you speak French?”

He tilted his hand back and forth, but didn’t comment. “I’ll send you a care package through Robertson. That way, you won’t have to worry about anything but having fun. Europe doesn’t have the same products that you’re used to.”

Johann had become well studied in the concept of black hair care. My braids and my curls were unique to me and he understood that these locks would accept no substitutions.

“I love you, Chu Zihang.” I said in Chinese.

“I love you, Bai Meixiu.” He said. “Call me again after Fashion Week. I’m interested in this mission of yours.”

“I have to get ready but… can I ask you something?” When prompted by a nod, I continued. “When you said you would find a place for us after graduation… did you mean it? What did you mean?”

He suddenly wasn’t meeting my eyes any more, a faint color coming to his face.

I explained, one hand running down a thin braid. “I was just thinking last night… how hard it was to sleep in so many different beds. It sounded nice to have a real home again. I think I’d like that.”

The color on his face suddenly deepened. “I’d prefer to talk about that in person.”

“Okay… I’ll see you again soon.”

*****

Apparently, the Paris Fashion shows themselves were so exclusive that you had to receive a personal invitation or be a member of the media to attend. Even so, the city was packed. Our ritzy accommodations were fully booked. The fact that we could stay where ever we wanted, eat wherever we wanted, and go to the shows all over Paris spoke volumes about the level of clout Anjou had. Never once were we refused entry, or had to wait. Our tickets of admission were immediately accepted by the staff.

He mingled about the immaculately dressed crowd at the show, shaking hands, giving hugs and leaning in to give little kisses on the cheek. He was introducing me to the people he knew. I suddenly realized that as the top student at Cassell, Anjou was showing me to his inner circle of friends, getting me acquainted with the top brass of Hybrid hierarchy throughout the world. Many were successful businessmen. Many were ancient families with a long history of wealth and power. Some were currently heads of state.

All of them were Hybrids.

I wore a long white dress with white gloves up to my elbows and a white fluffy hair piece in the shape of angel wings. It immediately attracted attention to me. I didn’t speak any French, but I didn’t have to to understand that they were very curious about Anjou’s little debutante.

We took our seats for the actual show. “Am I doing okay?”

“You’re doing just fine my dear.” Anjou, holding his own glass of wine, smiled. “Ah… this never gets old.”

“Can we buy some of the outfits?” It was the first time I had asked to buy anything.

Anjou laughed. “So you’ve finally come around to Paris! Just point to whatever you like!”

I rubbed my hands together eagerly watching for anything cute that I liked -- that Johann might like. With sudden motivation, I found myself spinning in dressing rooms, feeling the fine fabric on my skin. My dancer’s physique was perfect for the French style and the women there had more than enough fun dressing me up for my own personal fashion show. There was even a photographer. A burly African man leaned over with a camera to take pictures of me pretending to be a model. I noticed a familiar emblem on his jacket. 

“You’re from Cassell!”

His bright smile glowed on his face. “Agent Robertson at your service!” His New Yorker accent was obvious.

My eyes widened. “They sent you to take pictures of me? Someone as experienced as you?” 

He smirked. “Heh. I’ve been following you two all over town. My assignment is to be your security detail… but discreetly.”

“Are the other agents here too?” I asked. 

“That they are. Once fashion week is over, you’ll be off to work.”

“Johann Chu says hello.” I swayed in the mirror, making my skirt swirl.

“That guy…” He flipped through the photos on the camera. “Tell him to come back to Paris so I can beat him at basketball again. Nobody else here play.”

I turned to him the moment he said that. “I play.”

His jaw dropped. “Well, well, well… this is going to be a fun assignment.”

My security doubled as paparazzi as I made my way around Paris. I hung out in the first Arrondissement, admiring the parks, the fountains, and the Louvre Museum. I stalked A-list celebrities and got Robertson to take photos of them for me.

All the photos were sent to my social media account at Cassell. Johann Chu liked every one of them. He left comments of which clothes I should take home. When I asked if he wanted a souvenir, he simply replied. “No, this is enough.”

The heat rose in my face. “Sweet talker…”

When it was time for me to leave the hotel, Anjou left a final message for me on a gold embossed perfumed card. “Congratulations on your first assignment. May it be the first in a long career.”

Under a bright spring sun, we traveled in a convoy of black armored vehicles to the safe house. Men brandishing AK-47s opened the gate to allow us in. We drove down a winding narrow road through a forest to the massive chateau. 

Robertson grew quiet and serious, constantly on his walkie-talkie, giving orders and receiving feedback and updating our position. He referred to me as ‘The Asset’. I was escorted to the heavy wooden door. It opened. Four other men stood before me. They were all European, in suits and sunglasses despite their being indoors. 

“Agent Lavigne, IT. Monet, Logistics. Blanchet, Security. Garnier, Security.”

The French agents. I nodded to them politely. “Nice to meet you. I’m Charlotte.”

Agent Lavigne, lowered his glasses to reveal bright green eyes. He was pale with freckles and a shock of red hair. “Allow me to show you where you will be working.”

My heels clicked against the marble tiled floor. There were columns and statues and art everywhere. We went up the stairs to a large master suite. “This room has all the amenities you need. Unless required, you should be able to stay here and not leave it. There is a balcony in the back for fresh air.”

“Not leave my room?” I asked in dismay.

“There is an extensive amount of work you must do here. Your playtime is over.” 

I pressed my lips together, glaring.

“Don’t antagonize her. Anjou said she needs to be kept happy.” Robertson immediately placed himself between me and Lavigne. I glanced between them, unsure of why there was this sudden tension.

Lavigne cleared his throat. “I meant no offense. My English is not that good.”

Lame excuse, I thought, but I nodded. 

“The laptop you’ll be working with is directly connected to EVA. Your task will be translation and interpretation of the text. Nothing more.”

“Why fly me all the way out here if I’m just going to work with EVA?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it have been easier just to stay at Cassell? What’s with all the security?”

“That information is unfortunately classified.” Robertson said.  Despite his serious demeanor, he smiled a little. “I will tell you this. Sometimes, Cassell doesn’t want to show it’s directly involved in a project.”

“Oh… … Okay…” I said. I nodded once in determination. “I’ll work hard!”

“We’ll leave you to it.” The two agents shut the door.

I jumped up onto yet another strange plush bed and opened the laptop. “Agent Meixiu!” I declared. 

Immediately, the machine registered my face and voice. It spoke to me in EVAs vocal AI. “Welcome. I hope your stay in Paris was enjoyable.”

“It was! So what are we doing here?”

“We’re interpreting and translating the draconic text found underneath the slums of Mumbai. It’s a densely populated place, but the ruins are accessible through the sewers. Wells dug by Cassell are reaching even greater depths.”

Pictures of the locations of the dig sites and maps flashed across my screen.

“Your initial assignment will be to translate this document. It is composed of 15,000 symbols, 5,000 of those are unknown draconic.”

“Five thousand?!” I whispered. I sighed. “Okay… Let’s get to it.”

“Your acceptance of the mission has been logged. Welcome to Project: Leviathan.”

The reams of draconic script opened themselves before me. There were so many unfamiliar words mixed in with familiar ones. One thing was immediately clear. These weren’t ancient chants, prayers or curses. This was a history, a record of actions. What was stranger was that the actions weren’t of a dragon, but of a human man.

I stood up and looked around the room. It would take me months to translate all this and I was not interested in spending that much time away from Johann. There were several framed pictures on the wall. I got off the bed and pulled down one. Then I fished out a permanent marker from my luggage and drew a time dilation rune on the wall. When activated, three hours here would only be one hour outside the room. I rehung the picture over it.

I would not need EVAs assistance. As a supercomputer, she could only make guesses based on available information, and that was not always accurate. I had someone who had direct access to draconic script and was a native speaker. She spun out from my dragon scale necklace, floating there.

Ielia, a version of me from another dimension, appeared like a glowing ghost in the room. “Please help me translate this?”

She gave me a solemn nod.

[akitokihojo]

In Between: Chapter 9

Here we gooooooooooo! Chapter 10, the final chapter, is in the works. So, hold on to your butts, shit’s getting real y’all!

Previous chapters can be found in my fic masterlist, as well as on AO3 and ff.net.

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Kagome grimaced, leaning over the counter to get a closer look at the bruise on her face in the mirror. Her cheek and part of her under eye were painted scarlet and purple, the intense darkness of the wound saved for the very side of her cheekbone where he'd hit her hardest, shaded navy and shadowed slightly with swelling. Swiveling her head, she pulled her damp hair away from her face, analyzing the cut just outsider her hairline. It was angry and tender, especially whenever she made any sort of facial expression, but it was easy to hide beneath her waves so long as she left them untamed. The marks on her neck, though, were an entirely different story. The splotchy bruising marred a portion of the center and the sides of her throat. She was grateful the marks weren't as dark as the one making up her left cheek; he was hitting her over and over in that spot, whereas on her neck he was controlling his strength so as not to choke her completely. The mauve and rouge colors blended and lined where his fingers had squeezed, hardly sensitive and serving as nothing more than a reminder that he'd had her pinned.

"You okay?" Inuyasha asked from the open doorway to the restroom.

"Why does it look so much worse today?" She moaned, lightly poking her cheek to test the soreness of it. She winced, instantly regretting her stupid action.

"It's usually worse the day after. Here." He held out a cloth-wrapped bag of frozen peas. 

"Thanks." Kagome smiled, happily planting the icy vegetables on the side of her face.

"Come on, I need to get a bandaid on your cut before you start oozing all over my clean floors."

"It's not bleeding, I can do it." She grimaced again.

"Shut up and sit." He pointed behind him to the couch, watching as she rolled her eyes but followed his order. Pulling open the cabinet beneath the bathroom sink, he fished out the small first aid kit and followed her out, sitting on her right and setting the box in front of him on the coffee table.

Kagome dropped the bag of peas on her lap to pull her hair over her shoulder, using her right hand to keep it held back just behind her temple. There was no need to clean the wound since she'd taken a shower less than an hour ago - her third shower since they'd finished cleaning the apartment, and second since they'd woken up this morning. While she was handling the situation well enough, it was understandable that she'd want to try and "wash" the violation from her skin. Carefully, Inuyasha applied some ointment to the cut with a q-tip, spreading it out evenly before grabbing a small butterfly bandage from the box.

"I'm surprised you have those. It's not the most common type of bandaid to see in someone's house."

"Pfft," Inuyasha scoffed, applying the bandage securely and ignoring her little wince. "I'm a cop. I'm a reckless cop. And I've got just enough demon blood to avoid the constant visits to the hospital for a scratch that'll disappear in twelve hours. Put the peas back on your face. How's your head?"

"It's okay." She shrugged, leaning fully back into the cushions of the couch as she did as he said. "I'm more concerned about my face."

"Is it sensitive? I've got some Ibuprofen."

"No, the way it looks!"

"It's not that bad." He tried to comfort

"Are you kidding? I can't go to work like this, I work with children!" Kagome flailed her free hand in the air in exasperation, giving Inuyasha a look like her ailments were common sense.

"Well, it was stupid of you to still plan on working in the first place! You need to take time off!" The half demon argued.

"I can't just take time off, Inuyasha!"

"You literally never take vacations, you've probably got P.T.O. up the yin yang!"

"It's not about how much time I have accrued, it's about the lack of notice I'm giving! I'm a teacher!"

"With a teaching assistant!"

"She can't make teaching plans!"

"It's a preschool, Kagome, have her recite the ABC's and give the kids some coloring books!" He rolled his eyes so hard his head lolled to the side. Kagome scoffed.

"These are vital learning years in a child's life, I'll have you know!"

"Fine, go to work." He shrugged, leveling his expression, a hint of arrogance in the cock of his brow.

"Hello! Have you been listening? I can't go to work!"

"Then it sounds like you need to take some damn time off, you idiot! Two weeks, just for cushion!"

"Two weeks!?"

"God, you just keep arguing." He drawled.

She threw the peas at him. "And tell them what? "Hi, I can't come into work because I've caught the fourteen day flu."" Kagome mocked, holding her finger-phone to her ear.

"How about, and bare with me because this is pretty out there, a family emergency." Inuyasha spread his hands out like he was drawing a rainbow in the air above his head.

"What?"

Inuyasha chuckled hopelessly, shaking his head as he picked up the wrapped-up peas and gently held them to her cheek. "Man, this knock to the head really isn't helping you think straight, is it? A family emergency." He reiterated. "Say you have to fly out because your grandpa's in the hospital and you'll keep them posted, call again in a week and let them know things are worse than you expected. Boom, two weeks covered and no doctor's note needed."

"That's-" Kagome looked slightly stunned, blinking as the tension in her brow faded. "That's actually a good idea."

"Imagine that." Inuyasha nodded.

"God, you're so full of yourself." She snagged the frozen vegetables and pushed the half demon away, ignoring his cocky laugh as she rolled off the couch to grab her phone from across the room. Before she could open her email to prep her excuse, Inuyasha's phone rang right next to her, Koga's name illuminating the screen. She tossed it over to him, unable to hear what the normally-boisterous wolf was saying on the other end, only able to gather that it must have been semi-good information being fed through the line from the way Inuyasha didn't ignite in curse words but only nodded and responded with a simple "okay."

Hanging up his phone, he looked over at Kagome from his spot on the couch, sighing out before speaking. "So, they may have caught your attacker from last night."

Kagome sealed her lips, trying to swallow the nerves that suddenly began to inflate.

"They need you to pick him out of a lineup."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

She hadn't imagined having to see that man again so soon, and the thought was intimidating. She figured it would be through a two-way mirror, just like the interrogation room she sat in last night, and he wouldn't be able to see her, but what if he picked up her scent? What if he gave her that thin-lipped smile like he'd already done so many times? 

"Will you be there?" Kagome asked.

"I can't for this one." He hesitantly admitted, looking half-ashamed. "I saw his profile in the system last night. I know what he looks like. They haven’t specifically told me I can't yet, but I already know Kagura won't let me ten feet near that room. This is just so no one can say I influenced your answer."

"Got it." She breathed with a nod, completely understanding the logistics behind it. "Then, alright. We've gotta do what we've gotta do."

"Come on," Inuyasha stood, walking around the room to gather his necessary belongings. "Let's get this over with."

SVU Precinct

Sango sipped her piping hot mug of coffee, ignoring the sting on her tongue so she could get the caffeine rolling through her system. It had been a long night and she'd only been able to doze off for a quick power nap in the cot room before her busy mind and restless legs demanded she move. It was hard to be still when they had a criminal detained, even more so when he was playing smug and abiding by his right to remain silent. Not once had he asked for a lawyer since they sat him in the interrogation room, though. As fishy as it seemed, it could potentially end up working out in their favor. No lawyer means they had room to play a little dirty.

She looked up from her half-drunk cup as Inuyasha's silver hair caught her peripherals. He walked in at a leisurely pace, dressed down in a thin, maroon hoody with a plain, white tee underneath, loose jeans making up the lower portion. The guy practically lived at the station with how busy he liked to keep himself, so seeing him dressed in his civilian wear was on the odd side of things for her. What was even more odd was how soft his features appeared as he shifted his body to let the woman behind him step in front, his hand not touching, but hovering at the small of her back to keep her near.

It was a suitable change for him, and one she hoped he got to permanently adopt this time around.

Sango rose from her seat, hoping the coffee would hit her sooner rather than later, her muscles feeling heavy and sluggish. Inuyasha's ember eyes landed on her instantly, and he led Kagome down the hall of desks to meet her.

"Hey, thanks for coming." She greeted. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm okay. Don't worry about me." Kagome responded with a pleasant shake of her head. The thick bruise on her cheek crinkled slightly with her controlled grin, the smile appearing crooked so as not to anger the blue and purple mass. Her black, wavy hair was brought to the front of her shoulders, curving and covering most of the marks around her throat, and the only evidence of the nearly-shielded cut on her temple that would catch one's eye was the redness just outside of the swelling that traveled towards the outer tip of her eyebrow. She was wearing a charcoal pullover hoody with the brand name stitched across her chest, the bottom hem hugging the hips of her dark blue jeans.

"I'm glad to hear it, though." There was a brief pause before she continued. "So, I'm sure Inuyasha told you, but we have to have you pick the perp out of a lineup. Think you remember his face well enough to do that?"

"There's no way I could forget it." Kagome said earnestly. "Shouldn't be a problem at all."

Kagome was confident, but Sango couldn't help the pang of guilt she felt that a man's face was so unwillingly etched into her mind. She wondered if she was troubled with nightmares of his brutality as she slept last night, or watched him leap at her whenever she blinked. The way she held herself seemed calm and nicely put-together; there was no evidence of fear or lingering anxiety written in her body language, and Sango couldn't help but think this woman was fantastic at putting up a front in response. But that wasn't it. If Kagome was hiding behind a facade, Inuyasha's protective demeanor would give it away. She'd worked with the half demon for long enough to understand that he feeds off of the reactions of those around him; those he's closest to. Especially victims. If they wanted to shy back, he'd give them shelter behind his broad shoulders. If they were nervous, he'd compensate with his surety. Kagome was temporarily living with him, so it would be entirely too exhausting to keep up a lie all hours of the day until this mess was put to rest. And Inuyasha was undoubtedly synced with the woman at his side, standing close but not smothering, there for assistance if necessary but allowing her to stand tall without a crutch. If she was even slightly nervous, he'd pick up on that emotion like it was broadcasted clearly on a billboard. Sango watched him stiffen a smidge as Kagome took another step forward, a silent indication that she was ready. He was the nervous one.

Sango took Kagome's arm to guide her towards the back, letting Inuyasha know they'd return shortly as he plopped down in his own desk chair to wait. They walked through a small curve in the halls, coming up on an open room, greeted by Hojo and Kagura as they entered through, simple pleasantries exchanged as Hojo did his part to make sure Kagome was as comfortable as manageable. They stood before a two-way, illuminated from the opposite side, the room they watched completely empty aside from Koga standing next to a door on an adjacent wall.

"Koga's going to let them in through that doorway. Everyone will be holding a number, so if you see the man that attacked you, I want you to tell me which number he's holding, okay?" Kagura instructed. Kagome nodded, a note of hesitation finally crumbling her stature.

"He can't see me, right?" She asked, walking up to the window, placing her fingertips on the metal frame at the bottom of it.

"No, he won't be able to see you at all." Hojo steadily affirmed. Again, she nodded. They all stood there silently, giving Kagome a moment of composure. Her brown eyes didn't shift from the brightly-lit room they looked in on, and as she took in a deep breath, there was no more sag to her body, even her chin raising a hair. Hojo gave two deliberate knocks to the glass, and Koga turned to push open his door, ordering the row of men to enter without bark to his tone.

As each man passed through, Kagome quickly studied their faces, all looking slightly similar to the next. She immediately disqualified numbers two and three as they appeared for their five o'clock shadow. The man she'd been attacked by had such feminine features, she didn't think it'd be possible for him to grow facial hair. Number four walked through, shortly followed by number five. Neither were him. As soon as number six walked in, Kagome tensed considerably, her fingers gripping the frame.

"Number six." She announced, watching the man saunter to his spot, the number held just in front of his navel. His nose was slightly crooked, the bridge an off shade of magenta, green and yellow outlining and expanding to the inner corners and beneath his eyes. There was a cut on the side of his head that she swore was twice the size when she'd given it to him, little, angry nicks decorating the skin around the wound. That was her doing. That was the memento she was glad he was stuck with, even if his demon blood hastened his recovery. It didn't matter. She wasn't the only one currently standing marked.

"Give it one more moment." Kagura said, lightly placing her hand on Kagome's shoulder. As soon as all ten of the men were in the room - some detainees, some cops in disguise - and Koga had closed the door, she spoke. "Take a look at all of them. Are you sure?"

"Number six." Kagome stated again, more fervency in her tone. "That's him. He was the man at the coffee shop and he was the man that broke into Inuyasha's home."

Hojo gave six steady knocks against the window with the knuckle of his middle finger, and they watched as Koga emptied the room, the smile on the accused criminal's face growing wide and thin as he was personally led out by the wolf demon.

"You did great, thank you so much for your help." Kagura smiled.

"What happens now?" Kagome asked, turning around to face the lot of them.

"We interview him. Now's the time where we press him for any information he can give. He's our link to Naraku, so we're a step closer to tracking him down, and we're going to make sure this guy works with us." Sango replied assertively.

"Once we catch Naraku and trials begin, he'll be present. You'll have to testify against both of them." Kagura added.

"I'll do whatever you need."

"Good." Hojo grinned, watching Kagura walk off and in the opposite direction of the main office, lightly patting Kagome's upper back to lead her out the door. "Let's get you out of here."

"Wait," Kagome stopped in the center of the hall just outside the room, staring intently into the detective's blue eyes. Her determination took him back a bit as his fingers flinched away from her spine. "What's his name? I deserve to put a name to the face."

"It's Byakuya." He answered after a small moment of hesitation. "His name's Byakuya."

She swallowed the information, biting her bottom lip as she glanced to the floor, then darted her brown-eyed gaze back to him. "Thank you."

They walked out into the main office where Inuyasha sat, tapping his claws impatiently against the lining of his desk, his leg bobbing like a wind up toy bound tight. He jumped up at the sight of Kagome, quickly crossing the distance to meet her more than half way as she greeted him with a smile, her fingers loosely gripping the cloth of the arm of his sweater.

"Was he in there?"

"Yeah." She nodded curtly.

"Good, time for the interrogation?" He asked the detectives behind her.

"You know it." Sango replied.

"Let me see that fucker."

"Woah, woah, woah!" Hojo stepped in front of him, halting his path.

"Come on, I just want to look. I'm not gonna do anything." Inuyasha drawled.

"Why do you want to see him so bad all of a sudden?"

"Well, I had plenty of time to think out here and I've decided I'd get some nice closure if I got to see this man, too.” The half demon feigned innocence, the smile curving his lips only serving to disturb the detectives before him.

"No." Sango crossed her arms, planting her weight on one hip. "No way. You're gonna punch him."

"Just once!"

"Get out of here!"

"I can break him faster than you guys!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you can!"

"I just have a few words for him!"

"Well, write him a letter and we'll make sure he gets it!"

"Let me through!"

"Go home!"

"I should be part of the interview process! It's a good tactic to bring it down to a personal level, and he could potentially start talking faster!"

"You know damn well you can't do that! You aren't on the case, Inuyasha!"

"So!"

"You'd compromise everything!"

"No, I wou-"

Kagome reached up, gently flicking Inuyasha on the tip of his white ear, watching the appendage jerk to the side in response as his entire body froze and his voice completely hitched in his throat. He didn't look at her, his eyes stunned while facing his coworkers. "Come on," She spoke, her tone simple and level. "It's time to go, Inuyasha. You're in the way." She spun around on her heel, traveling to the door, only stopping to wait for her companion.

Sango blinked, covering her mouth to block the amusement she knew was written so clearly on it. She sniffed and cleared her throat, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible as she noticed her partner struggling to do the same, his lips pressed into a tight line. Inuyasha straightened, his body language no longer radiating defensive but slightly awkward and put off, scratching his temple as was his particular ism, and fixing the sweater over his shoulders to line up neatly.

"So, I'm gonna go." He raised his brows, pressing his own lips together. A small popping sound came as he released them and continued. "But it's only because I don't want to hear shit from you two. Got it?"

"Yup, sure, got it." Hojo nodded, a smug expression foiling his casualty. The half demon squinted his ember eyes in a meager challenge, spinning around and allowing his silver ponytail to fly behind him, following after Kagome and promptly exiting the office.

—

Sango unbuttoned the ends of her dress shirt sleeves, rolling her left up above the crook of her elbow, then swapping sides to roll up the right. She looked in on the man beyond the two-way, his pasty forehead dampened with sweat, the fine, ungroomed hairs of his bangs sticking to his skin. It was an effective tactic of theirs to spike the thermostat in the room. It was one thing to make them mentally uncomfortable with loaded questions, it was another to increase their physical discomfort - all around aiding in their quicker crumbling. On top of that, Koga had gone through and removed some of the bulbs in the overhead lamps before throwing Byakuya to sit alone in the room over an hour ago, the setting dingy and humid and uninviting.

Perfect.

Hojo approached, his button up and tie entirely removed as he prepared for their routine in his black tee shirt. He faced his partner, the back of his right forearm held out to her. "Good cop."

"Bad cop." She winked, tapping the edge of her right elbow to his.

"How long do you think it'll take to crack him, doc?" Totosai asked from the sidelines. Miroku observed the perp before them. Byakuya was tapping his foot against the flooring at a steady pace, his lips curved down in disapproval, his chest raising as he heaved a heavy, throaty sigh.

"Hard to say until he starts talking. He hasn't said a word since he's been apprehended. My guess is he's testy. He's secure, but he's guarded. He hides behind his rooted confidence. Find his weak spot and he'll give. Or potentially snap."

Sango spared Miroku a brief side glance, smiling softly when she noticed their chief wasn't looking. His face was serious, violet eyes captivating her gaze as he discretely mouthed the words, "Be careful."

Hojo stepped through the entry first, expression straight, holding the door open with one hand and a notepad in the other as Sango followed through. It was incredible, she'd been told, how fast her demeanor could change; how she could step into any roll necessary for the part. Next to Inuyasha, who'd rightfully earned his place at the top as lead detective in the precinct - despite his unorthodox practices - she fell just below him for her strong abilities to make perps fold. She was versatile in her tactics, adaptable in the room, and justifiably a force to be reckoned with.

Byakuya tilted his head upward to face the two detectives, his skin glowing beneath the yellow light from the slimy-looking film of sweat on his cheeks. Without the slightest hint as to what anyone should have expected, Sango crossed the room, curved around the corner of the table and demanded the criminal to stand. He did nothing but stare at her, thin brows pinching together audaciously. Again, she told him to stand. There was no degree of malice in her tone, no aggression, no attitude. The order she spoke was with the sincerity of a ship's captain. What she said would be heeded no matter what, and as he chose to ignore her once more, wrists bound close together in his lap with metal cuffs, she flicked her foot around a leg of the chair and kicked it from beneath his seat.

He fell to the ground, clambering up to his feet with dangerous chuckles mixed with growls brushing past his thin lips. Sango made sure the chair was out of reach from him, turning to push the wooden table to the far wall and out of the way. Hojo stood back, leaning against the wall at the very edge of the mirror, his face unchanged.

"You don't want to talk, you don't get to sit."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall in back of him.

"You're not looking too good there, woman beater. You tired?" She baited, closing some of the distance between them, stopping with just a couple feet to spare.

Byakuya ground his jaw forward, the muscles at the joint flexing as he brought his teeth back where they belonged. 

"Had a long night?"

His upper lip twitched.

"Hitting girls take a lot out of you?"

His head shifted slightly as Sango took two small steps forward, damn near in his face now, eyes slanted dangerously as she spoke again.

"Or was it the pounding she gave you that wore you out?"

Again, he scoffed, this time hard enough for spittle to fly from his mouth as he dramatically rolled his dark eyes. "I'd hardly call this a pounding."

"Really?" She feigned curiosity.

"Have you seen her face? I'm sure the marks I left have set in nicely."

"Sure, she's looked better. But there's one small detail you're neglecting. She's human. She, like most of us, get bruises from bumping the corner of a table.”

"What of it?"

"Well, you're a full-blooded demon. Your kind is difficult to harm and heals at a ridiculously fast rate, and yet..." Sango took an obvious glance at his wounded face and gashed head. "You're looking pretty worse for wear."

Another eye roll, this time swiveling his head to the side to face the neighboring wall instead of her.

"What's even better is once we lock you in a cell, you'll be labeled a woman beater. A lot of men in there don't take kindly to that."

"What, because a bruised septum and a cut on my head is clear indication of my crimes?" Byakuya chuckled. "How the hell would anyone know?"

"Oh, I'll make sure of it." Sango grinned, cocking a brow. "You think I don't have pull beyond these walls? You think one slip of the lip to the right guard wont spread your little secret of assault like wild fire? You'll have an awful rep before you're even indicted. The moment men see you walk through those doors, you'll be targeted. Your prissy, feminine looks will be scarred and bruised, and your ego will rightfully be smeared in the dirt. Your broken nose will stay this way, because everyone in there will want you to hold onto the little trophy Kagome gave you. Out here, you think you're something big, don't you? You think you're invincible because you hurt an unsuspecting girl, right? You're nothing. Not out here and definitely not in prison, and you'll have plenty of reminders coming your way for years to come."

"You're not allowed to threaten me! I know my rights!" He hissed.

"Who's threatening? I'm only trying to be informative. Hojo, did you hear me threaten Byakuya?" She asked with a smile, irreproachably. Hojo shrugged and shook his head, grimacing as he pretended he didn't hear a thing.

"You guys out there, knock twice if you heard me threaten him." Sango called to her coworkers watching in. Nothing. She turned back to the perp before her, raising a shoulder as she dismissed his accusation. 

"You're all corrupt!"

"What, are you mad now? Are you mad because a woman's in charge? A woman's in your face and you can't do anything about it?" She badgered, finally beginning to raise her voice.

"You don't know shit!"

"Don't I? Enlighten me, then!"

Byakuya stared at her, violet eyes flickering over every inch of her face, studying as his chest rose with an unsteady inhale. As he dropped his breath, he let out an incredulous chuckle, shifting his sights to the side.

"Or, is the only way you know how to teach a lesson-"

"God, woman beater, woman beater!" He drawled, unamused, bobbing his head from side-to-side. Byakuya stood up straight from the wall, leveling her challenge. "Is that all the material you've got? Look, if you think this has anything to do with the "reputation" you're giving me, you're sorely mistaken." He'd made quotation marks with the index and middle fingers of both chained hands, lifting them between their bodies so she'd see.

"Is that so? So, what did it have to do with?"

"Is that a loaded question?" He smirked.

"No, a loaded question would be me asking how much Naraku paid you to attack her." She watched his conceit fade. "I was fishing for you to admit it yourself."

His discomfort notably increased as his Adam's apple bobbed with the thick swallow. He moved to step away from Sango, to create some space, but she clutched the front of his shirt and yanked him back, slamming him against the wall.

"Did I say you could move?"

"Sango-" Hojo calmly warned, dropping his pad of paper on the discarded table as he apprehensibly stepped up beside her. "Ease up a bit."

"What? No." She smiled, shaking her head, the collar of his tee still balled in her fist. "He's obviously the type of guy that likes being told what to do. All I gotta do is smack him around a little to show him who his new boss is, and he'll break."

"This isn't the way to do it. He's talking now, let's just keep the conversation going." He held up his hands, trying to break the two apart. Sango brought her other hand up to grab Byakuya securely, bringing his body forward only to crush him back against the wall, his head colliding with the cement.

"Here's what's gonna happen, princess,” She spoke low, leaning closer to hover inches from his face. "You're gonna tell us everything we want to know, or I'm gonna give you a glimpse of what you have to look forward to in prison! Got it?"

"Sango!"

"Get the fuck off of me!" Byakuya growled.

"Or what? What are you gonna do?"

"It's not even ground-breaking that you know who he is, don't act like you have the upper hand!"

"But don't we? We have his lackey in custody, and he's seconds away from giving us what we need." She patronized.

"Like hell!"

Sango stepped back, the hint of an arrogant grin pushing the corners of her lips up as she crossed the floor and grabbed the discarded chair, dropping it down in the center of the heated room. Hojo created his own space, backing away to the table's new home, his fingers landing on the notepad but not picking it up. She silently commanded their perp to sit with the shift of her eyes that dragged from his body down to the seat. His expression was clearly ambivalent as he stayed put, thin lips twitching, eyes untrusting, sweat crawling down the side of his face.

Finally, he moved, squatting into the uncomfortable chair that only worked to further unease him, eyes inside and out of the immediate area focused on him as one of the remaining working lamp lights flickered in and out three times before going back to burning yellow.

"So," Sango began again, pacing around the room to stand before Byakuya. "How much did he pay you?"

He rolled his violet eyes, cocking his jaw out and in, a small popping sound heard from the grinding motion. 

"Alright, we'll make this easy. We'll come up with scenarios and you can just confirm or deny. Ready?"

No response.

"You're having trouble paying your bills. Or, better yet, you're an addict - that explains the sweats you've got right now. Jonesing. Craving. Your blood must be boiling, poor thing. You met Naraku by pure coincidence, and he offered you money in exchange for your assistance. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into. Money means drugs, so you took the bait."

"No." He plainly refuted.

"You're right, that doesn't make sense. How would Naraku have even a dime to his name right now? It's not like an asylum-escapee could hold down a normal retail job. Unless he's selling-"

"No."

"What about blackmail?" Hojo asked, his tone kind and approachable. "You don't seem the kind of person that's capable of concocting something this dangerous just for the hell of it. I can see there's more to you, and if he's holding something over your head, now's the time to tell us. We can work with you, Byakuya."

"You don't know shit about me." He dismissed with a sneer. "I'm not in this for money, I'm not into hard drugs, if anything I'd be the blackmailer in this scheme considering the way this man's twisted mind works, and I have the sweats because you assholes turned the heat up to eighty-five fucking degrees!"

"Doesn't feel hot in here to me." Sango shrugged.

"So, you're saying he asked you to do his bidding and you agreed? Just like that?" Hojo inquired.

"Basically."

"Did you aid him in the murder of-"

"Oh, here we go again!" Byakuya rolled his head back and around dramatically, landing on his bony-looking shoulder as he laughed. "History's repeating itself, and you're about to chalk up the whole story of how Naraku's some sort of serial killer, aren't you? Don't bother!"

"What do you mean?" Hojo and Sango glanced at each other from the side.

"He didn't kill anyone!" He shouted, fervency in his beliefs, eyes glowing in his defensive hunch. "You guys had nothing, nothing, and you were only able nail him down by planting incriminating evidence that didn't exist!"

"You don't believe he's a criminal?"

"That's not what I said. He's broken some laws here and there, he's built a record. He's just not the criminal your system has painted him out to be."

"A murderer." Sango stated, crossing her arms where she stood.

"Exactly."

"How do you know anything about Naraku? What makes you so sure?" Hojo pulled up a chair, opting now to sit across from Byakuya, sparing five feet's distance between them.

"Let's just say we have history." The demon shrugged, sitting back in his seat.

"That's not the answer we were looking for." Sango declared.

"Well, that's the only answer you're gonna get, sweetie."

"Try again."

"Go fuck yourself."

She grabbed a chair for herself, swinging it around to straddle beside Byakuya who leaned away as she neared. "Big talk for a guy in your position. See, here's the thing, considering you aren't cooperating but have confessed to your affiliation with Naraku, you could be pinned for everything he's done, and the potential is strong here."

"Aside from the assault, you don't have a thing on me."

"How about aiding an escapee?"

"Alright, you've got one thing." He smiled. "I'll do my time."

"How about stalking on two accounts?"

"So he took a few photos. Big deal."

"How about the murder of Abi Phoenix and her unsuspecting mother?" She delivered with more vehemency.

"Now that's where I have to stop you, because he hasn't-"

"He shot her mother in the head and tortured Abi all night until she bled out, you piece of shit! And before you defend his innocence again, he personally left his DNA on Abi by biting her thigh! We have the strongest evidence necessary to prove it was him!"

"Do you have an eye witness?"

"We have his saliva!"

"DID SOMEBODY SEE HIM!?"

"Yes! You! Apparently, you're the only person since his escape that has had any personal contact with him! You seem to know his every move, so you must have known he murdered the two women! Maybe you even helped him! You think the men in prison will be hard on you for brutally attacking a woman, wait until they find out-”

"You're making shit up!"

"We have to work with what we've got, don't we!? This is what you could be indicted for! This is the fire you're playing with, Byakuya!"

"He didn't kill anybody!"

"Sure, he did! He did, and so did you! How strong do your roots run, huh? Did you help him back in the day, too!"

"You mean the crimes you incorrectly pinned on a mentally unhealthy man!?"

"I mean the murders he committed on women and children! He killed a little boy! He kidnapped and murdered him in the backyard of his family's cabin!"

"Our family hadn't been to that damn cabin in three years, and Naraku hated that fucking place!"

Sango's mouth hung agape as she straightened her back, allowing this new information to bleed through. His cheeks went a sickly pale, neck tensing as he stared at her, the hollow of his throat emphasized with his discomfort.

"Our family?" Hojo spoke, leaning in slightly with an air of caution. Their perp was breaking, sweat dripping from his jaw line and soaking through his dirty, white shirt. He was nervous, a noticeable pulse pumping at the side of his neck, breathing elevated and heavy.

"So, you're related. That's how you know so much about him." Sango said.

"So fucking what!?" He spat defensively.

"That doesn't make sense, though. We have both yours and Naraku's DNA in the system and neither were matched to one another." Hojo said, brows furrowed as he reached for an explanation.

"Use your fucking brain, dumbass." Byakuya responded, his confidence raising as he embraced the now-exposed truth. "We aren't biologically related. Naraku was adopted."

"You're his younger brother."

"Ding, ding, ding! My parents thought themselves sterile since they were two clashing breeds of demons. They tried and tried and tried to get pregnant until a professional diagnosed that their contrasting biologics were too unstable an environment for a fetus. Hell, for semen. My mother's uterus was a war zone, you see. So, they adopted. They got my brother before he could even talk and it was a nice few years before I came around. I was deemed the "miracle child," and my brother was officially in the shadows from that day forward. He didn't take it to heart, though. He was... indifferent, I'd say. Indifferent to almost everything, really, but if there was one thing he hated, it was being still. If the house was too quiet or he ran out of things to do, he'd grow irrationally angry; he always had to be doing something stimulating. My brother's mentality began to slip when he was around, I don't know, ten or eleven. I was young, only seven, but I still remember the depthless look in his eyes when he first hurt an animal. Sure, I thought it was terrifying. How could a person do that to a cute, little bunny, right? It didn't take me long to realize Naraku wasn't a normal person, though. He never showed a hint of remorse when he did something wrong, was the biggest pathological liar you'd ever meet, either lacked or neglected control over his behavior, but still managed to be the most suave motherfucker around. That guy could manipulate the pants straight off of someone, but he was so charming not a single person batted an eye. Not even me. He was arrested several times over his teen years for animal cruelty; not the best hobby he could have picked up, even I can admit that. But not once did he ever target people for his twisted gimmicks. Not to mention, the last few times my family went up to that stupid cabin in the woods, Naraku lost his absolute shit! And I wish I was exaggerating! He'd break things, and scream, and curse, and kick, and punch holes in the walls, and demand to go home the entire fucking time. He wouldn't sleep while we were there, and he'd wander off into the woods and disappear for hours on end, which clearly wasn't a good thing considering what he was notorious for. So, we stopped going. Simple as that. Who knows why the hell he hated the place so much; probably because there's hardly anything to do in a secluded area. All I know is, it doesn't make sense that he'd ever willingly go back."

"He was arrested in the woods near the cabin."

"Fake."

"The little boy's body was dug up in the backyard."

"That doesn't mean he did it." Byakuya shook his head. "Hell, my father was more likely to kill a kid before Naraku ever would! He and my mother treated him like he was nothing, even after paying good fucking money for the adoption! I didn't want the limelight! I didn't want my brother to be treated as he was just because I was the one sperm that survived her fallopian tubes' ruthless defenses! For all I care, they caused his mental instability or whatever personality disorder he was diagnosed with! They threw him out on the street when he was seventeen! They kicked him out and moved so he wouldn't be able to find his way back! I was the only one that thought he deserved a little leeway! He wasn't right in the head and wasn't getting any sort of therapeutic help! How was he supposed to cope!? He was accused of all these murders, and it drove me crazy how that ugly, half-breed cop pinned all this false evidence on him like all psychopaths are bad! They aren't! There's this stupid stigma placed on psychopaths, that they're all murderers, but they're not! My brother may lack empathy, but he's not stone cold! He has a heart! He's never done a single bad thing to me! Not once! He lied about a lot of shit he did as a kid, but never once placed the blame on me! He was a good older brother!”

"No, not all psychopaths are killers." Sango spoke. "Not all killers are psychopaths. You're right. But you're brother-"

"YOU SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH!" Byakuya heatedly rose from his seat, cutting her off as he kicked his chair away and raised his cuffed hands to strike. She jumped back, but Hojo was on him before anything could happen, spinning Byakuya around and pinning him against the cement wall. He was gasping for air, struggling to escape the hand Hojo gripped his untidy, black hair with, body weight applied to his core so he was effectively restrained.

Sango held up her hand to the two-way mirror, knowing someone was probably preparing to break up the scene in case things were about to get messy, which she wanted to prevent. That couldn't happen yet. He was finally talking, and if they ended the interview now, the next time around would be twice as difficult. So long as Hojo could calm the detained demon, they could continue.

"There's no need to get angry, alright? Take a deep breath. That's it. One more. Good." Hojo soothed, backing off of Byakuya as his temper diminished. He took the liberty of grabbing the thrown chair and placing it where it was before, allowing the demon to sit and wind down as the tension in the room dwindled.

"He didn't kill anybody." He stated again, staring at the floor. "Abi's just a casualty in your half-demon's twisted game. He wants Naraku back in that hell hole so bad, it's pathetic."

"And how do you suppose he got the saliva sample?"

"Oh, please. Like that's even real. All you guys have to do is say you got it, and the system would take your word for it."

"What if we showed you the proof?"

"Then I'd insist you attained the DNA from his stay at the asylum and planted it.”

“Why would they have his DNA?”

“Who knows, but it’s a possibility.”

"You're very adamant in your opinion. You're incredibly loyal to your brother. It's understandable that you'd fight for him now that he's free; even going as far as running his errands." Hojo leaned in from his seat again, playing up the empathy.

"He's been through enough. I don't blame him for wanting payback." Byakuya's knee started bobbing up and down, growing faster as he tried applying more weight into it to get it to stop. "He justifiably hates Inuyasha, and I'm on board with anything he has planned for him."

"So where does Kagome land in all of this?" Sango asked, her tone notably softer than any other time she'd spoken before.

"Just like Abi, she's a casualty." He smirked. "My brother can be... obsessive. He started following her to spike the half-breed's anxiety and paranoia, but then it evolved into something more. He had a reputation given to him by Inuyasha, kind of like how you tried to pin one on me, so he's decided to live up to it. Polaroids. Polaroids, everywhere. Quite frankly, it was annoying, but who am I to tell him how to get his revenge? In all honesty, though, Kagome deserves the backlash she's getting if she's choosing to stay with the guy."

"I thought he's never targeted people before." Hojo posed.

Byakuya shifted uncomfortably, handcuffs jingling as he brought his sweating palms closer together. "Well, yeah. Before now."

"That's a pretty big leap. And you were ready to kill for him?"

He half-scoffed, half-chuckled. "I was actually under strict orders not to kill the girl. He wanted her maimed, really. He wanted Inuyasha to see the damage he was inflicting."

Sango sunk into her chair a little lower. It made sense. Kagome had mentioned he wasn't cutting off her air supply when he choked her. He was only trying to leave his mark.

"And you still believe he didn't hurt a single living being, human or demon, before this?" Sango tried.

"God, are you not listening!? Your corrupt officer framed him!"

"But why?" Hojo asked. "For what reason would Inuyasha have an innocent man put in prison?"

"Probably because these crimes were really taking place, but you guys arrested the wrong man. Inuyasha seems prideful. Like the kind of guy that doesn't like to admit when he's made a mistake. He couldn't take the embarrassment since this was such a high-profile case, so he made sure all signs pointed to Naraku."

"Don't you think that's a little too coincidental? I mean, Hakudoshi's body was pulled from your family's backyard. If Naraku was falsely accused-"

"Planted. He was planted. Keep up."

"How could Inuyasha have had the time to plant Hakudoshi's body? We have tapes, plenty of eye-witness proof, that proves Inuyasha was here, at the precinct, interrogating Naraku the entire time most of the searches for evidence was happening. The only time he went on the field was when we drove up to the cabin and unburied Hakudoshi."

"Then he had a buddy working with him. All of you have partners, who's his?"

"I understand your stance on this, I do. You want to believe your brother. You probably feel like you even have to because of everything he's been through. There's guilt gluing you to Naraku's side." Hojo said, allowing Sango to pick up where he stopped, instinctively knowing they were riding the same wave.

"But you're looking at this all wrong. Believe us when we say we want to help you. We are not against you here. You need to think of us as deforesters, not landscapers. We're in the business of uprooting every fine piece of grooly evidence, not planting it. Inuyasha was here, and we can show you. Abi wasn’t just some casualty, she was the link that pointed to your brother's arrest. Hakudoshi was innocently slain. He was a little boy. You think your brother doesn't deserve this treatment, but what about Hakudoshi? What about all the other innocent people killed by Naraku? What about them?”

Byakuya’s deep eyes pierced the ground at his feet, face contorted and wet, stray hairs sticking to his cheeks and neck, breathing unsettled as he clasped his hands together but couldn’t seem to hold them steady. He began shaking his head, the rhythm small and barely noticeable, allowing his mouth to part, a drop of sweat flowing over his upper lip and meshing into the line where it met the bottom.

“Show me.” He whispered. “I want to see every piece of damning evidence you have.”

—

The room was sitting at a more comfortable temperature now, the thermostat adjusted accordingly and a water bottle delivered for Byakuya as he sat in the room alone once more. The table was put back in the center, his arms resting against the wood as he stared down at it, waiting.

Sango and Hojo reentered with manilla folders in their hands, choosing their seats opposite Byakuya and placing their items on the tabletop.

"Sorry it took so long." Hojo said.

"Just show it to me." He mumbled.

Sango opened the folder she held, dragging out a glossy, black and white, overhead photo of Inuyasha questioning Naraku almost exactly nine years ago, six days from the date, the timestamp printed clearly in the bottom, left corner. She placed that in front of Byakuya, turning it around so it was right-side up for him. The next was a photocopy of an incident report where evidence was found at Naraku's apartment, dated and timed only eighteen minutes apart.

"In the video, Inuyasha is trying to get Naraku to admit to Hakudoshi's disappearance. No one knew he was dead yet. He was consistently pressing him to get him to reveal his location. He was trying to save the boy. At the same time, Naraku had given just enough information to get a warrant to search his home. Detectives found polaroids on the walls of women and children he'd stalked, women and children that had active missing reports out for their safe return."

"That doesn't mean anything. The time on Inuyasha's picture could have been photoshopped in." He argued.

"You can believe that all you want, Byakuya. You can bathe in your denial for all I care, but this is it. This is the proof you asked for. Inuyasha was in this station, locked in a room with your brother for hours, all while other investigators searched his place. How could he have planted anything?" Sango asked, her frustration slowly hiking.

"Well, where was he before the interrogation began?"

"Arresting Naraku."

"And before that?"

"Oh my god." She could tell it was a never-ending cycle, the huff from her nose heated like a dragon's.

"Look at this!" Hojo instructed, his tone striking critical for the first time. He opened his own folder, slapping down image-after-image of the scene they'd walked in on at Abi Phoenix's residence. Pictures of her mother's lifeless body, of Abi sprawled on the floor, slightly decayed, closeups of her brutally-inflicted wounds, the contusions on her neck, the bite just above her knee, her dark hair matted in dried blood. "See that mark on her leg? That's where Naraku bit Abi! That's where he left behind his DNA! She was murdered by your brother!"

"Bullshit! What reason did he have to get revenge on Abi? They had no affiliation with one another, they-"

"She was his girlfriend nine years ago! She was the reason he was arrested!" Sango interjected.

"That doesn't make sense!"

"When she was questioned by the police, she told them the last time she'd spoken to Naraku, he'd said he was heading to his family's cabin with his nephew!" Hojo yelled.

"No, that's not right! Naraku didn't have a girlfriend, and he doesn't have a nephew!"

"Think about it!"

"I'm telling the truth!" Byakuya shouted, slamming his fists against the table. "He's never been able to hold down a relationship in his life! Hell, he even told me he finds the opposite sex repugnant and never felt any desire to be with them - sexually or what have you!"

Hojo sat back in his seat, the heat fading from his expression, though his lips pressed into a flat line as he allowed Byakuya's words to settle, to cool. He nodded, shrugging his brows as he spoke again, this time more levelly. "Think about it."

"E-even if he did have a girlfriend, we don't have a nephew - he doesn't have a nephew." He shakily said, eyes widened with unclarity. Hojo pulled another photo from his folder, placing it on top of the others in the center of the table. The little boy stood with a bright smile on his face, white hair falling over his shoulders as he held a large basketball between his hands.

"This is Hakudoshi. He was eight years old and his body was discovered in the backyard of your parents' cabin."

"Inuyasha worked for hours to make Naraku slip, and a warrant was finally issued for us to search the premises. He was young, and terrified, and alone when he was killed. You want justice for your brother, but what about him?" Sango added, watching Byakuya's shoulders tremble from the applied guilt.

"You honestly didn't know?" Hojo inquired.

"No, o-of course not. I always believed him when he said he was set up, I-I thought I knew him better than anyone." He replied, the breath heavy against his lungs.

"I find that hard to believe."

Byakuya's violet gaze instantly redirected away from Hakudoshi's image, colliding with Hojo's skeptical, blue eyes.

"You mean to tell me you had no idea what pictures were inside the envelope you handed Kagome?"

"H-he didn't let me see them. The envelope was sealed when he gave it to me, I figured they were the same old thing." He hastily opposed.

"Well, it was; you're not wrong there." Hojo smiled incredulously. One of the remaining items in his folder was the very same envelope, slightly wrinkled, pointed corners of polaroids poking out from the opening. He dumped the contents on the table, tossing the empty envelope down beside it all. "Same old thing, same old Naraku! These are old photos he managed to keep of past victims! Look at them, Byakuya! Take a look at all the people he's stalked throughout the years!"

He did so, spreading them out, confused, taken aback, not knowing what to say anymore, studying, looking through and stopping as he spotted the silver-haired little girl he remembered from third street. Bile was rising into his throat as his stomach twisted and lurched in his abdomen. The temperature was normalized in the room, but his cheeks felt clammy. She'd gone missing when he was nine. Naraku used to babysit her for a little cash. He remembered the sirens blaring as they raced around the bend to her house, he remembered the police coming to their door to question his parents and then moving on, he remembered the incessant rumors about her dad spreading throughout the neighborhood community, the pain he would see on her mother's face when she watched little children walk by, the hint of envy as they went to elementary school - something her daughter would never do. And he remembered them eventually moving away.

"What-" His breath hitched as his nerves began getting the better of him, fingers shaking against one another. "What do you want to know?"

"Is there anyone else working with you two?" Sango asked without hesitation.

"No."

"How did you get Inuyasha's spare key?"

"I have a detachable eye, it's disgusting but one of the quirks of being a mixed race of demons. Stole a uniform from one of your cops and my scent was masked enough to blend with the mess of detainees you have in this building. Set up the eye, saw his combo, came back and got it. I got lucky finding the key in the locker; I was beginning to think he didn't have one."

"And Kagome's?"

"Her landlord is a dumbass with multiple masters in an unlocked office in the basement."

"Your parents, we never located them." Hojo stated, waiting for Byakuya to fill in the gap.

"They live upstate on a ranch. They're fine."

"And your brother," Sango leaned inward, maintaining a careful tone. "Where is he?"

He hesitated, eyes slowly shifting back and forth between the two detectives. His throat clenched, and he didn't know what to do. Naraku was still his brother. How could he turn his back on him after everything - no, that was all a lie. Naraku was the one inflicting pain, not the other way around. He was a serial killer. 

The thought felt acidic on his brain.

Still, as he opened his mouth to speak, his throat clenched and held his voice captive. He tried again, to tell the truth, to give up the headache-inducing charade, but his abdomen tightened like a shockwave had coursed through the surrounding muscles.

What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? What was right? What was wrong? He was going to be doing time in prison anyway, maybe if he willingly took the fall for his brother, Naraku could start anew.

That wasn't the way it worked though, was it? His brother had grown obsessed with Inuyasha, obsessed with his revenge. He was going to kill again whether Byakuya took the fall or not. His brother was sick.

He deserved a chance.

But he was going to kill.

"I," Byakuya's bottom lip trembled as he hung his head, staring at the wood between his forearms. "I want a lawyer."

Two hard knocks against the mirror behind them rang heavily throughout the dense room, effectively ending the interview.

Inuyasha’s Residence

Inuyasha stomped around the apartment, huffing and puffing as he made sure the windows were secure for the fifth time and counting, rushing out of view for his next task. Kagome sat on the kitchen counter, watching him travel through with his ever-prominent scowl, propped with one hand just behind her butt while the other held the strawberry she nibbled. She knew it would be irrelevant to point out how repetitive he was being. She knew how this time of the month spiked his blood pressure, and with Naraku still on the loose and his teammates hardly communicating anything with him, there was very little comfort in tonight's new moon.

She could hardly blame him. She'd tried calming him down a few hours ago, but he had every right to be high strung. If Naraku has been stalking the two of them for months now, there was a huge probability that he knew of Inuyasha's human night. Not that it would provide an inkling of consolation for the irritable half demon, Kagome couldn't help but hope Naraku had spent his time being more focused on her. He could rob her of every secret she hid from the world, just so long as he didn't take this one from Inuyasha.

He walked into the kitchen, stopping close by, ember eyes dulled with anxiety, staring at her legging-clad legs that dangled from the marble counter. Even though he wasn't looking at her face, she gave him a congenial smile, one she hoped would express her empathy for the situation at hand. With a tense sigh, he turned around and she knew he was about the repeat the entire process all over again.

"Hey," She extended a leg out, barely skimming his thigh with a toe but serving to halt his path nonetheless. "You've got it all, Inuyasha. Everything's locked up tight. We're gonna be perfectly safe."

"One more time." He grunted, still not looking at her.

"No more times." Kagome scooted her bottom closer to the edge of the counter, reaching her foot out to nudge him in her direction. He was reluctant. Rigid. Strained. She nudged him again and he finally gave, glancing at her with an unamused expression as he stepped his left foot back to open his front to her. Using the leverage she was granted, she pinned his hips between both ankles and pulled until he gave her what she wanted and came to stand between her knees.

"What?" He grumbled.

She grabbed his hands and gently placed them to rest on the tops of her thighs.

"Kagome."

She shushed him, the sound quick and gentle, tenderly raking her nails up and down his bare forearms. He huffed again, the sound clenched in his throat, but he didn't try to pull away. Kagome dragged her fingers up to the crook of his elbow, tickling slightly from the way he twitched, secretly enjoying how sensitive his skin became when he was on the brink of transforming, traveling up to his biceps and going inside the hem of his tee so she could skim the faded edge of the tattoo on his arm. He was beginning to ease, beginning to soften, his thumbs rubbing back and forth over the material of her leggings. Kagome leaned in, placing a small and playful kiss on his chin.

"I don't have time for this." He said. It was gruff, but wasn't the least bit convincing. He never moved away. In fact, his hands had moved up to her hips, thumbs now meshing between her pelvis and the softness of her thighs.

"You can check the locks as many times as you want, but it won't stop the sun from setting and I know that's what you're really trying to do."

"Don't get all philosophical on me."

"Then relax. Everything's gonna be fine."

"Not if he tries anything."

"Who says he will? Nothing has happened in the previous months on this night, right? Maybe he doesn't even know."

"I can't take that chance, Kagome. You know I can't take that chance." Inuyasha rebutted, shifting his head to the side, glaring at the drawn curtains of the closest window. "If anything happens tonight, I won't be able to protect you as well as any other night."

"I'm not worried."

"Well, you should be." He said earnestly.

"Well, I'm not! Look - hey, look at me!" Golden eyes shifted, landing on the bruise that had settled into her cheek. The last she'd seen it, which wasn't all that long ago, it was a nasty mixture of green and yellow, outlined with sprinkles of purple. It was healing, but he still stared at it as if it were freshly-inflicted and the bane of the Earth. "I trust you. Nothing will stop me from trusting you, not even the moon. Get that through your thick skull, Inuyasha, because I'm really not worried. And if it makes you feel any better, I'll double check everything for you so you can stop second guessing yourself. Alright?"

He rolled his eyes, giving her a small shake of his head as he ground his jaw outward.

"Alright?" Kagome tried again, this time with a little more fervency, moving her hands to grip the slant in his shoulder muscles, giving a warning squeeze so he'd take her seriously.

"Alright, alright. Whatever. It's your funeral."

"Make sure The Black Parade plays at it." She teased.

"That's not fucking funny." Inuyasha groaned, leaning down to bury his face in the curve of her neck. She wrapped her arms around the nape of his, welcoming him, allowing him to clutch her tighter than normal as he hissed a curse and shuddered. Through the curtains, Kagome could see the night resting in, the orange and pink hues of the sunset vanishing completely.

His hearing dulled incredibly, making him feel stuffed up, his equilibrium swaying slightly as he gathered himself against her. Tucking inward even more, he felt a swarm of gooseflesh travel over his body like tiny electric shocks thieving away his supernatural gifts. Everything was bland suddenly. Plain. Limited. He hated it. It was unsettling to be this vulnerable.

He felt the tips of her fingers caressing over the bumps of his spine at the base of his neck, and he finally blinked open his eyes. Her inner thighs were relaxed alongside his hips, her mouth pressed to the shirt on his shoulders, the hot exhales leaving her nose seeping through the cloth and gracing the skin beneath. She was being so patient, tender, as if the transformation was something painful for him. Of course it wasn't, and he was sure she was well aware. It wasn't the first new moon they'd spent together in all the years they've known one another. Still, that never stopped her from waiting him out, never saying a word until she was sure he was adjusted.

Inuyasha sighed defeatedly, stepping back and standing tall, unable to hide the way he avoided looking at Kagome. Maybe he was sloppy, or maybe it was because he was human for the next twelve hours or so - truth be told, probably the former; he couldn't blame everything on the night of the new moon, no matter how overwhelming his emotions became. -  but his shame was evident, as was his lack of confidence the darkness had graciously provided. He believed her when she said she trusted him, he had no reason not to, but that didn't stop him from thinking she was stupid. So fucking stupid. He had a horrible feeling pooling in the pit of his gut, bubbling, churning wildly, heating his core like his demon blood used to, and it put him on edge.

It had been six days since Kagome was attacked; six days since he initially failed to provide her the protection he promised. If something happened tonight while they were under the same roof and he failed again, he didn't think he could live with himself. But that was selfish, wasn't it? He was only thinking about the way he felt. She wasn't worried, wasn't scared, wasn't even bothered by the diminishing marks on her face. Yeah, she was stupid and he would argue that until the day he died, but she was also way more intuitive than he was. If her gut wasn't telling her to tread carefully, then maybe it was just his human emotions and the effervescent need to protect that was fooling him into thinking something may go wrong.

Kagome pulled Inuyasha's ponytail to the front of his shoulder, combing the stark black ends she'd always expressed she loved so much with her nails. He still hadn't looked at her but, god, did he want to. The sooner he looked, he realized, the sooner she'd stop her ministrations. Selfish, yes, but that's a degree of greed he could accept within himself. She shifted her head, he could see in his peripherals, and her hands slid up his neck, fingers gently massaging the lobes of his ears, the feeling foreign and slightly weird. He didn't stop her. Instead, he subconsciously leaned into it, effectively blowing his cover. There was mirth in her brown eyes as he caught her gaze, her smile scrunching her nose, and her fingers fumbled to the tops of his ears, still rubbing, still foiling his act.

"Move," She said, a giggle on her breath. "I've gotta check the house since you clearly didn't do a good enough job."

"Punk ass." He grunted, stepping out of her way. Kagome grabbed a strawberry from the bowl beside her and put it in his eagerly-accepting mouth before hopping down from the counter and working her way from window-to-window. She pushed up on the borders, making sure they were all stuck securely by the locks, readjusting the curtains she'd pushed aside and moving onto the next. Lastly, she checked the the door, unlocking and re-locking so Inuyasha had the satisfaction of the bolt clicking into place. 

"Everything looks good to me. What about your gun?"

"Loaded and on me."

"You can't sleep while wearing it." She grimaced.

"Makes sense since I'm not sleeping." He shrugged, discarding the top of the strawberry in the trash.

"Oh, that's right. It's the all-nighter. I'll stay up with you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“There’s no need.”

“Four eyes are better than two.”

“You can’t stay up. You’re practically an old lady with how early you usually fall asleep.”

“Just because you have the unhealthy habit of doing it all the time, doesn’t mean I don’t have it in me!”

“I don’t need to sleep as much as humans!”

“And I’ve been reserving my energy just for tonight!”

“Bullshit! Ten bucks says you don't make it past two am."

"Twenty says you're the one that falls asleep first." Kagome challenged, laughing as he chucked a strawberry at her.

--

Her eyes were heavy as she watched one of the lesser-rated episodes of The Twilight Zone, making sure the volume to the chilling opening theme was low enough that it wouldn't disturb the sleeping man at the other end of the couch. It was surprising that he'd given in to the fatigue, despite how much she'd hoped for it from the beginning. All it took was some simple caressing and he was a puddle on the sofa, melting and dozing off until he couldn't fight it anymore, and she silently thanked his human night for making the guy substantially more sensitive than he’d ever willingly admit to being. Even under the illumination of the television, the black and white contrast bouncing off of his even skin, he looked peaceful. His scowl wasn't dominant, his brows were relaxed, and his lips were slightly parted as he steadily breathed in contentment. For his added comfort, she'd happily stay up all night. Plus, it would be fun to rub it in when he woke up that he owed her some money since it was hitting four-forty in the morning and she was still conscious. 

She leaned forward, minding that the motion was controlled to not alert Inuyasha, going for her glass for a sip of flat soda, fully relying on the small intake of caffeine to perk her up for the few remaining hours she had. As she reached, her phone vibrated against the coffee table, claiming her undivided attention as her hand snagged the device instead. It was the god-awful hours of the morning, who in the world could have been texting her?

The number was unfamiliar, though the area code was the same as her own. She opened the message, a chill rushing down her spine as she read the text three times over.

Kagome, is this still your number? This is Kikyo. I need your help...

The last time Inuyasha had spoken to her about his ex was when he was standing in her living room, telling her the truth she had been resistant to hear for so long. He was naturally worried about Kikyo's wellbeing, considering she'd disappeared from his place without a trace while fighting her addiction, and though he seemed to be masking it all well - maybe for Kagome's own sake - it must have been eating away at him. But why would she message her and not Inuyasha? What could she possibly do for Kikyo that Inuyasha couldn't?

Her phone buzzed again in her palm.

I'm sorry for texting at this hour. I don't know what else to do...

She needed help. That's what she'd said, she needed help. She was last seen in an unhealthy state, what if she never fully got better? What if she relapsed?

Even worse, what if Naraku knew about her too?

It's okay, I'm up. What's wrong?

It was only a small moment before Kikyo replied. Kagome couldn't help the sturdy beat of her heart thumping against her ribcage as she waited.

I got into some trouble, I can explain later. I think I'm by your apartment, will you pls meet me?

Yes! Where, exactly? Are you okay?

It made sense that she didn't know Kagome was currently staying with Inuyasha.

Near the old cafe and pancake house. Idk if you're still in contact, but I don't want Inuyasha knowing. Don't tell him.

She swallowed thickly, glancing over to his sleeping form. A guilt instantly washed over her. How could she not tell him? He's probably been so worried, so afraid. If there was anyone that deserved to know, it was him. Why wouldn't Kikyo want Inuyasha knowing? He would do anything to make sure she was safe. 

Nonetheless, it was her choice. She needed to respect that, didn't she? Maybe if she met with Kikyo, she could convince her to come back to Inuyasha's. Then it would be right on all accounts. Wouldn’t it?

The thought of the two of them together made it feel like a large, dense rock was dropped into her stomach, causing it to sink. It wasn't important, though. Her feelings weren't important right now. Kikyo was in trouble. Choosing not to help to spare her from the sting of jealousy was the worst thing she could ever consider. There was more than just herself involved in this. On top of it all, Kagome desperately needed to get to Kikyo before Naraku targeted her too.

Stay there.

She hit send. Stared at the virtual keypad beneath her hovering thumbs. Then began typing once more.

I’ll be there in ten.

As carefully as possible, she unfolded her legs from beside her, glad she was too comfortable to change from her leggings when they sat down to watch T.V. hours ago. As her bare feet met with the throw rug, she slowly rose, freezing as Inuyasha readjusted his position. Kagome stood in a semi-squat, her quads burning from the power pose as she waited him out, letting him settle, holding it until he gave that heavy sigh of deep sleep she’d been impatient to hear, then fully extended her legs in relief. She took every step with the intention of silence, clutching the notches of her shoes in her hands and deciding it’d be safer to slip them on in the hall. His car keys, thankfully, weren’t attached to an obnoxiously large set of keychains and rings like hers were, so folding her fingers around the three keys attached by a belt clip was easy to do while preventing a loud jingle that would no doubt wake Inuyasha. At a time like this, she legitimately didn’t know how to express how grateful she was that he kept his work set separate, as well.

Unlocking the door, though slow, was simple. The small scrape the chain gave hardly disturbed him, and the bolt was slid open right as a commercial flickered on the tv, so it masked the sound. Kagome twisted the knob, cracked the door enough for her to slide out, and pulled the door shut. She wouldn’t be gone for long - thirty minutes at the most. He’d, of course, be pissed when she got back, but seeing who she was with would hopefully provide some cushion. She had a legitimate reason for leaving.

As she got downstairs, Kagome dropped her canvas shoes to the ground without worry, sliding her feet in and adjusting the heels and tongues as necessary as she stumbled outside and to Inuyasha’s car. The vehicle came to life as soon as she twisted the key in the ignition, and she slid the seat forward and adjusted the mirrors as quickly as she could. She glanced at her cellphone one last time before driving off, checking to see if she had any other texts from Kikyo. Nothing. It wasn’t anything too abnormal for the woman, she was never very good at responding. Nonetheless, at a time like this, an “okay” or a “thank you” would have been nice.

The roads were dark as she stepped out of the car, sunlight still a couple of hours away. The street lamps were few and far between near her apartment, the neighborhoods slightly sketchy. She’d parked behind the coffee shop she used to frequent, venturing around the corner and to the front. The pancake house Kikyo mentioned was most likely the mom and pop shop a half a block down, but as she made her way closer, she realized there wasn’t a single sign of life around.

Kagome pulled up their texts, sending one saying she was here and waiting for a body to pop into her line of sight, but as the seconds ticked away, an uneasy and dreadful sensation made home in the pit of her abdomen. Something was wrong. Something was coming. She could physically feel the undoing taking place. It was getting increasingly difficult to swallow, to stand still, and her eyes were flickering over the streets around her until something told her it was time to go. Now.

Never in her life had she felt more like a sitting duck.

Kagome spun around, speed-walking her way up the street and back to the car, relieved when it was in view. Clicking the second button down on the remote, she unlocked the door so she could slide right in, but as she latched onto the handle and yanked it open, a powerful force slammed it shut, ripping the lever from her grip. The light from within had turned on from the initial open, bringing the face beside her into comprehensible view.

“Long time no see,” Onigumo grinned, the charming glimmer in his ruby eyes as evident as the day she’d first met him. “I’ve missed you so much, Kagome.”

“Shit!” She hissed, instantly running in the opposite direction. She’d made it three steps before a sharp yank to her hair stopped her in her hurried tracks, yelping more from fear than pain. He walked forward, holding her captive with the fist full of locks, pressing his torso flush against her back, curving his calloused, scratchy fingers around her throat, her head firmly tilted back to rest on his shoulder. His breath stank as he chuckled, the sound malevolent all on its own.

Naraku moaned, kissing the bruise on her cheek, his chapped lips lingering in place before the click of their separated moisture rang in the night. Kagome shuddered, gasping with every touch. 

“Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

[renee-writer]

Redemption Chapter 65 Wedding Day

Gabriella wakes up on 14th of February with her stomach full of butterflies and her hair full of rags. Jade had spent two hours the night before, putting her hair up in rag curls. When taken out, her hair will flow in curls, down her back, under her veil.

“My veil! Oh Lord, it is my wedding day.” She says softly to herself.

It is 7 am. The ceremony is at noon. Between now and then, she has to get herself and Evie ready. She and Eli are also planning to pray together before without actually seeing each other.

The hardest thing that they had to figure out, both logistically and emotionally about today, was who was to walk her down the aisle. They had finally decided on Paul. When John asks,’ Who gives this woman to be married to this man?’ he is to reply,’ Her church and sister do.’

She stands and stretches,” When I return to this room and bed, I won't be alone.” This thought sends a thrill of nervous anticipation through her. She grins and goes to wake up her baby sister.

“Sit still Evie Ruth.” Jade is brushing out her niece’s hair. They hadn’t curled it since it has it's own natural waves. It is to be brushed back, left hanging down her back, secured by a red ribbon that matches her dress. Her dress, designed by her and her Aunt Jade, hangs to the floor. It is a soft red, with ruffles and lace down it's entire length. The sleeves are half length and end in lace. It has a satin white ribbon around the middle to break up the red.

Jade's maid-of- honor dress is similarly made, with a little less lace and without the satin ribbon. It isn’t her style but today isn’t about her. Her hair is it's natural color today, a soft brown color, brushed flat.

“You are going to be a gorgeous flower girl.” Gabby says with a catch in her throat.

“Thanks. You will be a gorgeous bride too.”

“Yes. Let's get her hair down. Want to help?”

She does. She and Jade make short work of taking it down. “You are breathtaking Gabby and we haven’tgot your gown on yet.” Jade comments after getting the curls down and applying a minimal amount of make-up. “We need to head to the church so you can pray with Eli at ten.”

“Oh yes. Let's go.’

Gabriella heads straight to the bride's room while Jade takes Evie into the sanctuary to check that all is in place there.

Gabby, wearing jeans and a t-shirt that says, ‘ bride', gets ready to meet her groom. She knows he is dressed the same. The photographer will take pictures of the prayer. They will see each other but not today. Not one glimpse until she comes to him on Paul's arm.

But both believe it is important to continue to pray together especially today as they join themselves and their lives together.

“Gabby,” his soft voice comes from the other side of the door.

“I am here Eli.” She carefully open the door a crack, carefully keeping herself hidden behind the door. She just puts her hand through. She feels his strong, warm hand enfold over it.

“I love you Gabriella.”

“I love you Eli.”

He holds tight to her hand as he prays aloud for the day, for their marriage, for Evie as she spends the next four days with Jade, for their future children. It is a holy moment.

“I will see you in the sanctuary.” He tells her after the amen.

“Yes. I can't wait.” He kisses her hand and releases it.

“Ready for the gown?” Jade asks an hour later.

“Yes. Very ready.”

“Still an anxious girl.” Jade teases as she eases the gown over her head..

It is satin and lace. It falls below her feet with a train that flows a foot behind. The train is pure lace. It has full sleeves and the bodice ends in lace right below her neck. Lace encircles the waist. Roses made of delicate lace, encircle the skirt. They are Evie’s contribution to the design of the dress.

“Wow!” Evie exclaims when she sees her,” you are so beautiful Gabby.”

She smiles at her. She is quite beautiful in her flower girl dress. “Thanks Evie. So are you.”

“You both are. Do you want to go get the gifts Evie?”

“K.” she runs to the other side of the room.

“What gifts Jade? The dress is more then enough.”

“The dress is something new. You still need old, borrowed, and blue.” She explains as Evie hands her a bag.

“This is really not necessary.”

“Yes. It is. Something old. I found it in your mom's old jewelry box. I really think she would want you to wear it today.” She hands her, her mom's wedding ring.

“Oh Jade! I didn’t even think. It is perfect.” Freely crying, she thanks God for waterproof mascara.

“That's what maid-of-honors are for. Something blue and borrowed.” She hands her a handkerchief trimmed in blue lace.” I knew it would come in handy”

“You are so right. Where do I put it?” She asks after wiping tears off her face.

“Up the sleeve of your left arm.”

They get it placed and Gabby slips her mom's wedding ring on her right hand. “Oh. I've gifts for you also.” She hands them both small jewelry boxes. Each contain rings with rubies in the center.

“Oh Gabby! It is so pretty.” Evie places it on her finger.

“Yes. Very beautiful. Thank you Gabby.” Jade echoes.

“Thank you both for making this day so special.”

Jade places the veil on her head and she is ready. She gives Evie the basket of flowers. It has rose and daisy petals. She hands Gabby a bouquet that contains the same.

“Time to line up. Are you ready Gabby?”

“Yes. So very ready.”

“Good. Evie remember walk slow. Keep a hold of Mark's arm as you spread the flowers petals before and behind you.”

“I got it Aunt Jade. I love you Gabby.”

“I love you Evie.”

They meet up with Mark, Mike, and Paul. All wear white tuxes with red shirts.

“Okay. Mark take Evie’s arm. Very good. You two will go first. When you get to Eli and Brother John, Mark go to the right beside Eli. Evie to the left.”

Gabby realizes that her best friend is more nervous then she is. “It will be okay Jade.”

“I know. I just want it perfect for you.”

“It will be.”

From the other side of the door, they hear the music starts and Gabby's heart starts to beat in time to it.

“Evie and Mark. Slow remember.” Jade directs as she opens the doors and leads them out. Evie nods seriously as Mark escorts her down, holding a pillow with the wedding rings. They hear a collective ‘ awe!’ as they come into view.

“We are next. Follow after the count of five.” Jade reminds her as Mike takes her arm.

“I know. I love you Jade. Thanks.”

“I love you. You're welcome.” She and Mike follow the children.

“Are you nervous?” Paul asks.

“Not as nervous as Jade seems to be.”

He smiles. “I feel I should tell you something father like. Because I can’t do that, I will say that Eli loves you desperately. I have never seen him this happy. Y'all will be great together.”

“Thanks Paul.” The music changes to the wedding march. Gabby tightens her hand on Paul’s arm.

“Steady.” He whispers as he leads her down the aisle.

She lifts her eyes as they enter and meets Eli's at the end. They are full of awe. She feels the same at the sight of him in his blazing tux set off by the same red shirt the other guys wear. He also wears a white tie.

Paul leads her to him with a steady strong hand and a firm slow stride. The traditional hesitation steps seem to take forever. She moves slowly towards her future.

She sees out of the corner of her eyes, Jade and Evie and Mark and Mike. They all have smiles on their faces. She smiles back but her focus is on Eli. They finally make it to him. John smiles at her before asking,

“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

“Her church and sister do.” Paul answers placing her hand in Eli's. She hears a soft swell of awe behind them but it seems far away.

Evie's soft,” I do. I am her sister.” Brings a laugh to those close enough to hear but neither she nor Eli respond. John clears his throat and the laughter slowly stops. When it is quiet, he turns to the congregation.

“Dearly beloved.” He begins.

She and Eli had decided to do the traditional wedding vows. So they repeat,

“I Eli take you Gabriella.”

“I Gabriella take you Eli.”

“To have and to hold.”

“In sickness and health.”

“For as long as we both shall live.”

John explains the significance of the rings to the couple and congregation. They repeat the words that bind them as one, as they dlip them onto each others fingers. John them takes their hands and prays aloud for their marriage. He then turns them to face the congregation.

“I am pleased to introduce to you, for the first time, Reverend and Mrs. Eli Spencer. Eli, you may kiss your bride.”

He does with fierce joy. She vaguely hears the giggle of her sister. The slightly deeper laugh of the others. She hears John clear his throat. But, all these were of secondary importance. The most important thing was the feel of her husband’s lips on hers. Nothing else really existed.

John clears his throat again, a little loader. A reminder perhaps, that they are in church. This and the touch on their shoulders, finally penatrates their fog and they break apart to the cheers and whistles of their guests. Gabriella blushes a bit but Eli just grins, taking her hand and leading her out of the room. He stops in the hallway and pulls her back in his arms.

“My wife. How I love you.” He whispers before his lips claim hers again.

That is how Jade, Evie, and Mike find them moments later.

“Excuse me.” Jade softly says,” you two have reception to get to.”

“I told you they kiss good.” Evie says to Mark, who had joined them.

“Uh huh!” he is wide eyed. His father smiles and takes his hand.

“We will see you guys there.” He leads his son and Evie away, towards the fellowship hall.

“We should be joining them.” Jade tries again.

Eli lifts up and says,” Yes. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.”

“That is a good point.” His wife agrees.

“Shall we go my wife.”

“Yes my husband.” Her smile is huge. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He takes her hand and leads her to their reception.

[unorthodoxsavvy]

Gourmet Holiday

Title: Gourmet Holiday

Chapter: 1

Pairing: Dan and Phil

AU: UK-based BATK (Gourmet Makes) [Dan is “Claire” and Phil is “Brad”]

Word Count: 2.2k

Rating: G

Summary: Phil helps out Dan make candy canes in his holiday episode of Gourmet Makes

Trope: Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers

“Alright, my name is Dan, and today on Gourmet Makes we’re going to be making candy canes,” Dan smiled into the camera, holding up a box of a dozen candy canes.

“Candy canes are one of the best holiday traditions, even here in the UK. I love them for the taste, and also for the fact that if you get them sharp enough, you can stab someone with them-”

Dan quickly glanced up from the box to their camera man.

“Am I allowed to say that on this show?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Great!”

Dan started to pull one out of the package.

“Candy canes are really great too because they can be used in holiday deserts like brownies or as sprinkles or in like hot chocolate, ooh, we should make some hot chocolate- anyway-”

Dan unwrapped the long end and popped it in his mouth.

Behind Dan, his coworker, Phil, approached his station. Sensing the older man, Dan turned slightly.

“Phil! Important question: which end of the candy cane do you start with?”

“The curved part,” Phil smiled.

“Wow, someone isn’t valid,” Dan replied, turning back to the camera.

“Can I have one though?”

“Not if you’re going to eat it like that.”

Phil huffed and kept walking.

“Anyway, it’s time for my favorite part: reading the ingredients.”

Dan flipped over the candy cane box and started listing off the ingredients, doing his best to pronounce the bigger words. He knew that in the final edit of this video, the ingredients would be listed around him, framing his face as he rattled them off. Dan had always admired the editors work on all of his videos, a skill he felt like he could never pick up.

“Alright,” he grinned, staring straight ahead. “Let’s get started.”

The camera followed Dan around the UK’s BA Test Kitchen as he gathered up various ingredients and tools he’d need to start with his first task: making the sugar candy.

With a smile, Dan started to explain what he was doing as he measured out the sugar on his scale in a bowl, then transferred it to a larger pan he could boil it down to hard ball candy on the stove afterwards.

In order to make it a more elevated treat, Dan was trying to think of a way he could somehow use the mint leaves directly. One plan he had was throwing them in Phil’s dehydrator, and then using the spice grinder to grind them up and add to the mixture. It would probably give the candy a speckled appearance, but he hoped it wouldn’t look too much different from the original. Dan hated the artificial taste of extracts, and avoided them whenever he could.

After talking this through with the camera while his sugar boiled down, Dan removed it from the heat and waited for it to be cool enough to the touch for him to work with.

“I’m too weak for this,” he complained, grabbing the sugar and pulling it across his chest over and over again. Starting to get tired, Dan wrapped it around the stand mixer’s arm and used that to continue pulling towards him instead of out. Once satisfied with his sugar, he started to rip pieces off and form them by hand into cane-shapes.

By this time, Dan had been on camera for about 45 minutes, and Phil returned from whatever he’d been doing.

“How’s it going, Dan?” Phil asked cheerfully, looking down at Dan with adoring big eyes. Phil’s smile, which never left his face, was infectious, and tired as Dan was, he managed to smile back.

“I think I might need to find a mold for these,” Dan gestured to the candy canes he was making.

“You didn’t wrap the two colors yet?” Phil observed. 

“No, I just wanted to see how well I could do this without worrying about having to have them wrapped. If I can’t make these right without wrapping the red with the white, there’s no way I’ll be able to do it with that.”

“Alright, do you want some help making a mold?” Phil offered.

“What are you doing now? Are you working on anything?” As much as Dan would love the help, he didn’t want to pull Phil away from his own assignments.

“Ah, you know, just waiting for some things to ferment over at the fermentation station,” Phil mentioned, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the shelf in the kitchen he’d claimed for his weird experiments, including a bag of egg yolks with salt he’d thrown in a plastic sandwich bag. Every once in a while Dan had the urge to rip it down and throw it out, but a part of him was morbidly curious as to not only how long Phil would keep it tapped to the wall, but what would become of it afterwards.

Dan rolled his eyes at the thought, being a bit extra for the camera. “Alright, if you’re not busy, then sure. Got any ideas?”

Phil tilted his head in thought while Dan gazed up at him from his seat at his counter. Standing side by side, Dan and Phil were almost the same height, and they both towered over everyone else in the kitchen. It was one thing that bonded them. Their personalities complimented each other as well: Dan was pessimistic, focused, and sarcastic, something that the internet had latched on to, giving him the success he saw today. Phil, on the other hand, was a bit chaotic, spacey, and made really bad jokes and puns. This lent him a different kind of love from Dan, but just as much success. Their respective shows were the most popular of all of the UK BA Test Kitchen’s channel.

“What if we got one of those putty things you can impress molds into?”

Phil was known around the kitchen for having out-of-the-box and generally handy ideas.

“That’s great, do we have any?”

“I have no idea,” Phil grinned stupidly.

Dan let out a dramatic sigh and got up from his station to look around the kitchen, followed by Phil and the cameraman.

After looking around for a good 20 minutes, Dan located what he was looking for- there was only one problem. There was only enough of the putty to make a mini candy cane mold, not the full-sized ones.

Dan showed it to Phil.

“Well, if it works out, they’ll just have to be that size,” Phil voiced, as if he had read Dan’s mind.

“My thoughts exactly,” Dan agreed, and brushed past Phil in the hallway, shoulders bumping slightly. Dan felt his face heat up in embarrassment and didn’t turn around to apologize so that it wouldn’t be caught on camera. The last thing he needed was to give the internet another piece of “proof” that the two were secretly in love.

They’d never really explicitly talked about how they were “shipped”, but Dan was fairly confident Phil was aware.

Dan placed the putty for the mold on his work counter and started to work to clean up the mess he’d made in his first attempt, camera continuing to roll on the off chance there was any good B-footage to be had for the end of the video, or even peppered into the main video. Phil tried to help, but Dan waved him off.

“I have a process,” he asserted. Phil threw his hands up and backed away gently, playing it up for the camera. Dan wondered if the scene would make it into the video.

Once Dan was done cleaning his station Phil pulled up a stool to sit next to Dan.

Dan startled from where he’d been staring down at the table in focus and looked at Phil, feeling his eyes drawn to Phil’s icey blue ones.

“I, uh, we, I-”

“You sound like me on camera!” Phil joked.

Dan’s face dropped into a glare, causing Phil to chuckle even more.

“I grabbed the box of mini ones we got to make the mold with,” Dan finally stated, pulling over the box so it would be on-screen in front of the two of them.

“Awesome, let’s jump in,” Phil smiled, grabbing the box from where Dan had left it in front of them, starting to pull out some of the candy canes.

Dan vaguely felt like Phil was hijacking his video more than he would have liked, but maybe with more air time for Phil in Dan’s series, it would get more views. 

Dan watched Phil delicately unwrap the candy cane from the plastic and place it into the mold-maker, thinking about how two people with such steady hands could engage in such different work.

“Look good?” Phil asked, showing Dan.

“Looks good. Oh, by the way can I use your new dehydrator?” 

“You sure can,” Phil exclaimed, getting up to head over it right away. Dan figured Phil wanted to show him how it worked, so even though Dan wasn’t quite ready to use it, he followed Phil over to the fermentation station.

“Alright, so when you open it up you can see right inside we got two nice large fans, right, so those really push the air around and make whatever’s inside dry up real nice.”

Phil closed the door of the dehydrator.

“Up here you can set a timer for how long you want it to run for and over here with this dial you can change how much air the fans are blowing and this one over here changes the temperature-” Phil went through and detailed each and every feature his new dehydrator came with while Dan politely listened. After about five minutes of filming, Phil was finally done explaining how it worked, and Dan thanked him, saying he was going to go grab the mint leaves he’d pre-ordered for the episode.

“Wonderful!” Phil followed Dan to where he’d been storing the leaves.

It became clear to Dan that Phil was in this for the long-haul, so Dan asked Phil how long he thought they should keep the leaves in the dehydrator for.

“There’s a fair amount of moisture in them because they’re from a plant, so maybe overnight and we check them in the morning,” Phil suggested.

“Great, and in the meantime we can test out that mold you made.”

“Awesome,” Phil replied in a deep voice for what Dan assumed was comedic effect.

The two returned back to Dan’s station where Dan started to make the same sugar mixture he had for his first test. “I think I like this mixture I made, but the first one was really just to see the logistics of this, I wasn’t really paying attention to the sugar to see if this is what I want to end up using or not,” Dan mentioned as he stirred, leaning over his mixing bowl slightly.

Dan felt Phil lean over his shoulder to glance in his mixing bowl, and Dan stopped whisking to turn and give Phil another glare. It had the desired effect, and Phil backed off, but Dan wasn’t sure if he did it for himself or for the camera.

Dan continued stirring before pouring his mixture into the pot he’d had Phil place on the stove for him. Dan turned the burner on and placed his candy thermometer in, leaning against the oven as he stirred the sugar.

Phil came and stood next to him. For the first time this whole video, Dan wished the camera wasn’t rolling so they could have an honest conversation, but for now it was casual conversation.

When the sugar was ready, Dan poured it out and let it set, getting Phil to help him pull it when it was cool enough to touch.

Phil placed some in the mold, and although it worked, he wasn’t quite as happy with the sugar as he could have been. When he bit it, it was a bit chewy and didn’t have that distinct crack and the crumble effect of a real candy cane.

Dan voiced his thoughts to Phil, who seemed genuinely interested in what Dan had to say. 

“It’s getting late, I think I’m going to run one more test and then call it quits for today, and we can start day two tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.”

Dan made one more batch of sugar to cook down while Phil watched, this time letting it sit a little longer and get a bit hotter.

Dan was happier with the results this time, but felt that after a good night’s rest (in theory) he could come back and make an even better version the next day. Dan let Phil help him clean up this time, and by the time they were done, they were the only ones left in the kitchen. The camera man had been running low on battery again, and decided to wrap up filming a bit early, as they would have enough content for the video without him needing to film the two cleaning up.

Phil waited for Dan in the foyer while Dan put his coat on.

“We make a good team,” Phil smiled.

“We do,” Dan agreed sincerely.

“Maybe they’ll give us a show together some time,” Phil joked.

Dan turned to him as they walked down the hall.

“I would like that, Phil.”

[olboypacman]

Pin Me

State wrestling champion, Garfield Logan is training with a new work out partner in preparation for an upcoming season. The thing is this new partner of his outshines him in every way. Oh, and she's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. She also happens to be the crown princess of Tamaran and multi-time international wrestling champion, Kori Anders. College AU. One Shot. BBStar.

****

A/N: I claim no ownership of Teen Titans nor any mentioned Characters. For the action scenes I think I might’ve gone too deep with the wrestling and grappling terminology, so I tried to be as descriptive as possible for those of you not familiar with it. Looking forward to any feedback!

****

It was just supposed to be a light training session.

Emphasis on light.

A tie-up here, an ankle-pick there.

Maybe they’d get a little sweat going.

I skipped my daily workout, maybe this can be it. Can you help me out?

You know this bodacious bod isn’t going to maintain itself.

Come on, a few light matches won’t hurt.

Those and other prevailing thoughts were what ultimately brought Garfield Logan here today.

Right now, they were recovering from 2 pretty hard-fought periods.

Well… he thought, as ran his hand through his blonde hair as he sat on the mats.

Garfield fought hard. It appears as if his opponent isn’t even breathing with the slightest bit of labor. In fact, were this an official match, Garfield would’ve lost. And by not a whole lot of effort by his opponent.

At least it seemed that way to him.

Had it been another person on this planet of earth he’d be absolutely livid at the fact he hadn’t even been able to snag a single takedown or a pin.

Him!

On the high school circuit, he amassed an impressive record of 114-6 with 2 California state championships to his credit. With a pace and ferocity of a doggedly relentless animal, he was nicknamed ‘Beast Boy’ by teammates, opponents and coaches alike. He was highly sought after by colleges around the country. They were practically lining up to throw scholarships at the young man. Luckily for him, any choice of college would’ve been a free ride. Being the adoptive son of the founder and C.E.O of Dayton Industries, Steve Dayton and biological son of the late, world renowned zoologist Mark Logan had its benefits. He ultimately decided to go with his fathers’ (both of them) alma Marta, Jump City University. What attracted him wasn’t just its wrestling program (though one had to admit it was among the very best in the nation, if not the state of California), it was the zoology and veterinary programs funded by the estate of his late parents. It also didn’t hurt that his friends and teammates Vic ‘The Cyborg’ Stone and Richard ‘The Boy Wonder’ Grayson happened to attend.

He’d fully immersed himself into the culture at Jump-U. His first year was an absolute breeze. A national title in wrestling, being named an all-American in the sport and a 4.0 G.P.A. Life was pretty good and simple for Garfield. Though he did hit a hiccup in a relationship with pretty blonde exchange student, Tara Markov, that ended pretty badly for the young man.

The weeks leading up to his second year was packed with excitement. He was moving up a weight class in order to further challenge himself in his college wrestling career, his studies in zoology was progressing incredibly and there was a buzz on the campus that the staff and students of Jump City University was getting two new high-profile students.

The campus was teeming with rumors surrounding who it could possibly be. Garfield had asked Richard, who had no small amount of fame himself being Bruce Wayne’s son and all, if any of his siblings would be attending the upcoming semester. Those rumors were busted by Dick himself.

The first day of classes came and went with little fanfare, and the two new mystery students had yet to show up. Gar decided to spend that evening in the library going over the syllabi of his classes before he headed to the campus weight-room for a work-out.

As he left, he was greeted by three women he’d never seen on campus before.

(Flashback)

“Excuse me, can you tell us where the student advisory office is?”

Garfield turned, and before him were three of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.

The first stood in front of the other two almost protectively. The young woman was short and curvy, her wide child baring hips wrapped in a knee length black pencil skirt. She had black, almost purple neck length hair styled into a bob cut. She wore a no-nonsense air about her, and it belied itself on her face as she was waiting for his answer. Her skin was just a hair less pale than what one would call a normal skin tone. She wore glasses that sat at just the tip of nose, as her lilac eyes bored into him coldly. She was dressed in a purple dress shirt that was tucked into the aforementioned skirt and a pair of comfortable black flats. She held what appeared to be a tablet to her chest.

The second woman had hair just as dark as the other woman’s but was much longer, about the length to the small of her back. She was tall, about a whole head taller than the professionally dressed woman. She had stood behind the left shoulder of the shorter woman, again, almost as if she was shielded by her. Her face was framed by two long side bangs, which was aglow, along with her emerald green eyes by the screen of her phone. She was popping a piece of bubble gum nonchalantly, seeming oblivious to all around her. The young woman’s skin color was tan, seeming almost orange under the light of the setting sun. She was dressed in a midriff baring black t-shirt that had the word QUEEN in white bold lettering on the chest. She wore a pair of blue jean shorts that stopped about halfway down her thighs. Her outfit was completed with black and white Converses with long striped black and white socks. She had a relatively thin frame but didn’t seem frail. She had cuts of muscle definition on her arms, and a very toned abdomen revealed by the short length of the shirt. Her waist tapered down to decently wide hips.

The final young lady of this triplicate of gorgeous women was, in Garfield’s eyes, the most radiant of the bunch. Like the last young woman (sisters, Garfield presumed based on the resemblance), she appeared to be shielded by the professionally dressed woman behind her right shoulder. She was dressed in a white sundress, decorated with sunflowers of varying size all about the garment. She had red hair that practically glowed in the evening sunlight. It was shorter than the other young woman’s, though that was likely because it styled to be incredibly curly. Her smile, slight as it was, radiated a cheerfulness that most college students would’ve lacked at the advent of a freshly started semester. Garfield presumed it would’ve lit up an entire room had she been flashing a full smile. She brushed a strand of her curled hair out of her green eyes as she waited for Garfield to answer.

Garfield stood there; slack jawed for just a moment.

The taller dark-haired young woman removed her phone from her face and droned in a sarcastic tone with a slight accent Garfield couldn’t quite place: “Are you just going to gawk at us, or are you going to answer our dear Raven’s question?”

“Komi, please.” Responded the professionally dressed woman.

“Sister, friend Raven, is it not rude that we didn’t introduce ourselves to our new friend here before requesting something of him?” Said the redhead.

“Fine,” said the professionally dressed woman, Garfield presumed to be Raven. “I’m Raven Roth, and I’m,” she pauses for a moment, as if thinking of what to say, “I guess the best way to explain this is that I’m an attendant to these two.” She says, gesturing to the two taller women. As if she read his mind, she continued, “’Now why would these two young women need someone to be their attendant?’ I bet you’re thinking to yourself, well they’re…”

“We’re both crown princesses of The Kingdom of Tamaran!” Interrupted the exuberant redhead as she stepped from behind Raven.

“Now who’s being rude.” Laughed Komi as she joined her sister, stepping from behind the shorter woman. “As Raven was saying before she was interrupted, this is my sister Kori Anders, and I am Komi Anders. Though I am but a princess now, I soon will be the queen of Tamaran.” She finished proudly.

At Komi’s prideful declaration, Kori appeared to deflate just a little, somehow seeming less bright than she appeared before. While Raven simply glares at Komi for unnecessarily going for a soft spot of her sister’s.

“Don’t count those chickens before they hatch Komi, it’s not like Tamaran is an absolute monarchy these days. The royal titles are more ceremonial these days, though they do carry more responsibly than that would imply. Hence the reason I’m here. Plus, your mother and father mandate you find a husband before they vacate the throne, which that time is pretty far off.” Said Raven.

At Raven’s response Kori’s brightness returns, like it was never gone. She meets Garfield’s eyes and moves into his personal space as she brought her hands together and said, “What is your name, new friend?”

He steps back, more out surprise than anything else and answered, “I’m Garfield, Garfield Logan. But my friends call me Gar.”

“Garfield? Like the cat from those comics?” Said Komi sarcastically.

“Yeah,” he responded, “I’ve heard every joke.”

(Flashback End)

That day Gar had befriended Anders sisters, frigging royalty (plus their attendant)! Komi and Kori’s father had wanted them to get their education abroad as he did. He’d insisted it would broaden their horizons and prepare them, or more Komi, for their futures as Tamaranean diplomats. Raven was there to take care of logistics, housing, body guarding and anything else the princesses may have needed (on top of being a student herself).

One of the student advisors had agreed to help them get everything in order before they officially started classes. They’d said that their absence for most of the day had been expected as they had been getting properly moved into the city. Kori and Raven insisted they’d be staying on campus, and Komi would be staying in a luxury condo off campus. Which Komi thought was better for her, as she wouldn’t have to share her space with them.

As the semester got into full swing, Raven, Komi and Kori fell in and got on well with his circle of friends.

He particularly got close to Kori.

He’d come to learn and perhaps love (though he’s reluctant to admit that aloud) about her many things about the princess.

Example, her love of mustard. Not as just a condiment (though she does put it on everything), but as a full-blown beverage. It wasn’t uncommon to her enjoying a mustard milkshake from the café inside the university’s bookstore.

Her friendly nature. Should anyone ever have the fortune to cross her path they will be considered her friend. On sight. Victor had once joked she’s like The Terminator in that respect.

He’d also been lucky enough for to show him her more introspective side. Word spread pretty fast that royalty had arrived and would be attending Jump City University.

Those counselors could be as mouthy as the students.

Komi, prideful as she is, would pretty much tells everyone who’d listen that she’s next in line for the throne of Tamaran. This had been a very sore spot for Kori. Kori had confided in Gar what it meant to her to be passed over for the throne.

To her, this meant she was a failure in more respects than one. As a daughter to her parents. A daughter of her country. As a servant to her people. She’d nearly come to tears during that discussion. But Garfield had asked if anyone back home had treated her with any less respect since it was decided she wouldn’t inherit the throne. Through tear-soaked eyes, she smiled and said no one had treated her any different. They’d fell asleep in each other’s arms that night, much to their embarrassment.

There was something else about Princess Kori Anders that Garfield admired.

She was also a talented wrestler.

Like an insanely talented wrestler.

Like a savant.

To the point she had been competing internationally since her early teens.

She brought in the sport as her parents were also wrestlers, and wrestling is considered the national sport in her home country.

She had a bevy of titles, medals and tournament victories before she graduated high school.

Pretty much the only accolade she didn’t pick up was an Olympic medal (gold or otherwise), which she only fell short of representing her country due to an injury.

She’d decided to enter the world of submission grappling in order to challenge herself further, since her Olympic aspirations had to be put on hold at the time.

“Garfield,” said Kori, interrupting his reverie, “ready for another round?”

“Sure Kor, why not? I think I’m catching a second wind. Maybe I’ll take you down this time.” He finished with a wink.

“OK, friend Gar, just let me finish this bottle of water and I’ll reset the time.”

Kori flicked her hair behind her shoulders and starts to polish off her water.

She was dressed in just a purple sports bra and incredibly short, incredibly tight gym shorts similarly colored as her top. Her wrists were lightly taped with white wrapping and she wore solid white wrestling shoes. She had a sheen of sweat clinging to her skin, her left hand on her hip. The right one holding a quarter empty water bottle to her mouth, its contents rapidly decreasing.

Jesus Christ did she look amazing.

And she always does. Thought Garfield.

Not just in sundresses, or those expensive looking evening wear she likes with hair curled to perfection and her makeup done just right. Even in oversized shirts, sweatpants and her hair being a self-described rat’s nest, she's still a picture of perfection. "Oh, please Garfield, I'm very much the mess right now." She'd say with a wave of her hand dismissively, whenever she complemented her in such a state.

A small drop of water finds it way around her lip as she’s polishing off the bottle.

It falls down her chin. It then drips down neck as she tilts her head back.

Then to her chest.

Then it disappears into her-

“Ah,” says Kori, “that was most excellent. Shall I restart the timer to begin the next round, friend Garfield?” She asks, tossing the bottle to the nearest recycling bin.

The young man gets up from his seated position, shaking himself loose to prepare for round of wrestling.

Kori takes in the form of her blonde-haired, blue-eyed, forest green singlet clad friend, a contemplative look in her eyes.

“Something up Kori?” He asked.

“I was thinking, maybe we can do a little submission grappling?”

“Eh, I don’t know. You know my experience with it isn’t much. Plus, I’ve got a post season tournament coming up in a few weeks and I don’t want to risk injuring myself.” He said scratching the back of his head.

“Oh, please, please, please Gar?” She said, instantaneously closing the distance between them with hands clasped together, batting her eyes at him.

Said eyes are alight with that genuine enthusiasm he’d come to admire greatly.

An enthusiasm it’s incredibly difficult to say no to.

“What the hell,” says Garfield, “maybe I can get you down this time, huh?” He finished with a smile.

“Great!” She said, clapping her hands together once more. “No periods, no time limits. The first to get their opponent to submit will be the winner. Are you agreeable to this, friend Garfield?” She finished, as a predatory look began to adorn her face.

He nods preparing himself.

They circle each to start.

Kori takes the initiative, faking a shot, but retaining back her stance, right foot forward, after completing the feint.

She’s trying to bait me to go for a single leg takedown. Thinks Gar.

He decides to take her bait and does shoot for a single leg takedown, though half-heartedly. As he anticipated, she pulls her leg from in front her in an attempt to sprawl. Garfield follows through with his takedown attempt, going for a far side single on her left leg, now that the right is no longer an option. He turns it into a high crotch takedown, placing his left hand between her legs and locking it behind her leg with his right hand. Using the connection provided by locking his hands together as a point of contact, he lifts the Tamaranean up with the connection his hands created between her legs. Reacting quickly, Kori pummels her hands underneath Garfield’s, underhooking him. Kori then pulls the former California state champion tight to her by wrapping her arms around his back utilizing the underhook, locking her hands together behind the young man’s back. Realizing his hopes for a takedown is lost, he releases the high crotch attempt. He then looks to pummel his own underhooks on Kori, though it isn’t easy considering he’s the shorter of the two.

Kori lazily attempts a trip while Gar continues to fight for underhooks. It succeeds, causing the blonde to temporarily lose his balance. Garfield regains his balance immediately and recognizes that Kori failed to control his body in her trip attempt. This has created much needed space between the two grapplers and has broken her grip behind his back. Living up to his reputation as relentless, Garfield pulls Kori’s left elbow forward, away from her body, lowers his head on that same side, ducking and driving himself behind the princess. He wraps his arms around her front, securing a body lock from behind. She attempts to break his grip, sliding his locked arms down her body. It happens rather easily considering the lack of friction due to the results of their activity, sweat.

Christ she’s slippery, thinks Garfield, no wonder she’s practically wearing nothing. The fact that she’s still sweaty from our other 2 rounds makes harder to get a good grip on her.

She manages to break his grip and attempted to cause a scramble, but she failed to create the necessary space between her back and his front. As a result of that he snatches that rear body lock once more.

Knowing he has to make something happen, otherwise risking another scramble or losing the position entirely. He tries to trip the Tamaranean, hooking his right leg in front of her own and then tosses her down once her balance is compromised.

Kori manages to avoid being taken down, catching herself on her hands and feet and makes it back up to her a more vertical position. Once her base is re-established, she keeps her weight forward to avoid being taken for a ride. Anticipating another trip attempt, she repositions herself, making sure Garfield’s left leg is between her legs. Kori bends forward, reaches for the leg and rolls for a knee bar.

Shit thinks Gar.

He panics, but notes that her attempt was a little sloppy, loose and she didn’t retain any control of his leg with her own. His panic is enough to cause another scramble and in the end they’re both back to their feet, circling each once more.

“Most excellent, friend Garfield.” Says Kori.

“Hey, I’m wasn’t highly recruited for nothing Kori.”

“That I can see.”

Garfield then lazily shoots for another takedown attempt.

“I see you Gar,” says Kori, as puts her hands on his shoulders in an attempt to keep him off her.

In response, Garfield ties her up, his right hand behind her head and left hand on her right bicep as she responds by tying him up in the familiar hold. He drops low, pulling her head down. Going for an ankle pick, he drives forward while simultaneously pulling her right leg up from under her completing the takedown, his first one of the day.

Not wasting any time, Kori immediately wraps her legs around Garfield, retaining a closed guard. It’s pretty tight.

Garfield isn’t going anywhere.

In a regular wrestling match this would be considered a fall, a victory, if he managed to keep her in this position for several seconds, but this isn’t a regular wrestling match. Letting his in experience with submission grappling show, he goes for her wrists pinning them above her head.

"Oh no," drones Kori, in a tone very reminiscent of her sister, "you've got me by my wrists. My one weakness. I'm completely at your mercy. Whatever will you do with me?"

Not missing a beat, she wrestles her wrists free from his control.

Going for a high guard sweep, she gains control of Garfield’s arms. She then readjusts her legs, breaking her closed guard to a high guard, her feet locked together on the higher part of his back. This secures Garfield’s forearms to Kori’s body. She further secures the position by grabbing her right shin. She then underhooks his right leg with her left hand and once more adjusts her legs, capturing his tricep and rolls him on to his back. The roll finished, she grabs her opposite shin with her right hand, pushing on the mat with her left hand and drives her hip downward, completing the reversal.

With him now mounted, she spreads out her base making sure she can’t be bucked off of him. She then gets control of his wrists, pining them of his head for a complete reversal of the roles they were in just moments ago.

Garfield knows he’s at the redhead’s mercy.

She’s looking down at him with an incredibly playful expression.

"Say Kori." She lightly commanded.

Gar responds, "Wait, don't you mean, 'say uncle.'?"

"It's is not he who has under his mercy," she says smiling over him, "it is I, now say it."

He begins to utter the name of the princess in a sign of submission, but not before the breath is stolen from his words by the lips of Kori Anders. Her hands going from his wrists, to lightly cradling his face. His instinctively go to her hips.

Eventually they break their lip-lock, taking in much needed oxygen.

The realization of her action hits him like a tone of bricks, over the moon that the woman that currently has him mounted returns his affections.

“All this time, I thought you were just being nice to me. Like you are to everyone. I suspected you liked me back, but I wasn’t sure, and I was terrified I’d ruin our friendship if tried to make a move.” Said Gar.

"In my culture it's very common that one goes after who they desire, regardless of their gender. Victor advised me that a guy in this country might've been scared off if I came off as the strong, that should I be the subtle. I've dropped as many hints as I could, I held you tighter and longer whenever I embraced you, I took interest in American comedy so that I may better understand your jokes as I very much enjoy laughing with you, I even invited you to study with me when I looked less than my best to see how you’d react but you remained very much oblivious to my subtle approach. So, I disregarded everything Victor said and here we are. Like you I feared ruining our friendship if made my true feelings known. But I couldn’t bare thinking what could’ve been if I just stayed silent.” She says. Her smile brightens even further as she continued, “It was by complete coincidence that you happened to approach me today to do the wrestling with me. I had what I wanted to do in mind, but I wracked my mind trying to find a way to make happen. But you saved me the trouble, my dear Garfield.”

Garfield laughs heartily and says, “So the people in Tamaran wrestle their crush into submission?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said as she met his laughter with her own, “I meant my people don’t hesitate to declare their hearts to those they care for. Although that’s not to say many a romance in my country hasn’t been consummated on the wrestling mats. It’s actually how my mother won the heart of my father. She managed to break his arm in the process and even then, he still fought bravely as well as he could. You can probably guess how that story ended.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t see fit to break a limb, Kori. But this is a bit sudden and informal, I,”

“Fret not my dear Garfield. I know what it is you wish for. A formal declaration of my feelings for you.” She stands up and proudly exclaims, “I, Princess Kori Anders, daughter of King and Queen of the great country of Tamaran declare my desire to date you, Garfield Logan! Do you wish to do the dating of me?”

From his seated position, he reaches his hand out beckoning her to help him up, “Nothing would make me happier Kori.”

****

Read this and more @https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6330123/